
SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



(AFTER THE PORTRAIT 



BV SIR HENRY RAEBURN.) 



THE 







•^ 





'WS 




A POEM, 



TJV ST^ C jLJSTTO S. 



BY 



SIR WALTER SCOTT, 



WITH 



THE INCIDENTAL SONGS SET TO MUSIC, 














NEW YORK AND BROOKLYN. 



\1 






COPYRIGHT, 

1885, 

BY DAVID SMALL. 



»l*W»5iir>o 



KLBCTBOTYPID BV C-jV 




NOTE BY THE PUBLISHER. 



■-5>=«>d!::>=^I>^>- 



TNCE the Poem of "The Lady of tlie Lake" was first given to the public, in 
the year 1810, its popularity has heen such, that innuraerahle Editions have 
appeared, ranging in form from the humblest Pamphlet or Book, to almost perfect 
examples of Typography, Illustration, and Binding. So far as known to the Pub- 
lisher, no Edition, MfiiA the incidental Songs set to music^ has ever been issued, and to 
supply this want the present Edition has been prepared. The Music— with the 
exception of that of the Ave Maria— and the Ballads, "The Heath this Night" and 
"They Bid Me Sleep," has been composed and arranged expres.sly for this work, 
and the Publisher sincerely hopes that it may meet the approval of all lovers of 

Sir Walter Scott. 

D. S. 







--5>=i>:23^*>:*>- 



CANTO I. - The Chase.— Page 5. 
SONG. — Soldier, Rest! Thy Warfare O'er. - - Music by David Small. Page 13 

CANTO II. - The Island.— Page 17. 

SONG — Not Faster Yonder Rowers' Might. - . Arranged by David Small. - Page 18 
SONG— Hail TO THE Chief. - Arranged by David Small. - " 24 

CANTO III. - The Gathering.— Page 31. 

CORONACH — He is Gone on the Mountain. - - Music by David Small. Page 36 

SONG — The Heath this Night. Music by Jobn Wilson. "39 

SONG — Ave Maria. Music by Franz Schubert. - " 42 

CANTO IV. - The Prophecy.— Page 46. 

SONG — They Bid Me Sleep. . - - . . Music by John Wilson. Page 53 

SONG — The Toils are Pitched. ----- Musi<: by David Small. - - - " 5S 

CANTO V. - The Combat.— Page 60. 

CANTO VI. - The Guard Room.— Page 71. 

SONG — Our Vicar Still Preaches. - . - - Music by David Small. Page 72 

SONG — My Hawk is Tired of Perch and Hood. - Afusic by David Small. - - - "80 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



Argument. — The scene of the following Poem is laid chiefly in the vicinity of Loch-Katrine, in the Western Highlands 
of Perthshire, The time of action includes six days, and the transactions of each day occupy a canto. 



OAI^TTO FIRST. 



THE CHASE. 



TTarp of the North ! that mouldering long hast 
hung 
On the witch-elm that shades Saint FiUan's 
spring, 
And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung, 

Till envious ivy did around thee cling, 
Muffling with verdant ringlet every string, — 

O minstrel Harp, still must thine accents sleep? 
Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring, 
Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep, 
Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to 
weep? 



Not thus, in ancient days of Caledon, 

Was thy voice mute amid tlie festal crowd, 

Wlien lay of hopeless love, or glory won. 
Aroused the fearful, or subdued the proud. 



At each according pause was heard aloud 
Thine ardent symphony, sublime and high ! 

Fair dames and crested chiefs attention bow'd ; 
For still the burden of thy minstrelsy 
"Was kniglithood's dauntless deed, and Beauty's 
matchless eye. 

wake once more ! how rude soe'er the hand 

That ventures o'er thy magic maze to stray ; 
wake once more ! though scarce my skill com- 
mand 

Some feeble echoing of thine earlier lay : 
Though harsh and faint, and soon to die away, 

And all unworthy of thy nobler strain, 
Yet if one heart throb higher at its sway, 

The wizard note has not been touch'd in vain. 

Then silent be no more ! Enchantress, wake 
again ! 



The Stag at eve had drunk his fill, 
Where danced the moon on Monan's rill, 
And deep his midniglit lair had made 
In lone Glenartney's hazel shade ; 
But, when the sun his beacon red 
Had kindled on Benvoirlich's head, 
The deep-mouth'd blood-hound's heavy bay 
Resounded up the rocky way. 
And faint, from farther distance borne. 
Were heard the clanging hoof and horn. 



n. 

As Chief, who hears his warder call, 
" To arms ! the foemen storm the wall," 
The antler'd monarch of the waste 
Sprung from his heathery couch in haste. 
But, ere his fleet career he took. 
The dew-drops from his flanks he shook ; 
Like crested leader proud and high, 
Toss'd his beam'd frontlet to the sky; 
A moment gazed ado\vn the dale, 
A moment snuff'd the tainted gale, 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 




A moment listen'd to the cry, 
That thicken'd as the chase drew nigh ; 
Then, as the headmost foes appear'd, 
With one brave bound the copse he clear'd. 
And, stretching forward free and far. 
Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var. 



Tell'd on the view the opening pack, 
Kock, glen, and cavern paid them back ; 
To many a mingled sound at once 
The awaken'd mountain gave response. 
An hundred dogs bay'd deep and strong, 
Clatter'd an hundred steeds along. 
Their peal the merry horns rung out. 
An hundred voices join'd the shout ; 
With hark and whoop and wild halloo, 
No rest Benvoirlich's eclioes knew. 
Far from the tumult fled the roe. 
Close in her covert cower'd the doe, 
The falcon, from her cairn on high, 
Cast on the rout a wondering eye. 
Till far beyond her piercing ken 
The hurricane had swept the glen. 
Faint, and more faint, its failing din 
Return'd from cavern, cliff, and linn, 
And silence settled, wide and still. 
On the lone wood and mighty hill. 



Less loud tlie sounds of sylvan war 
Disturb'd the heights of Uam-Var, 
And roused the cavern, where 'tis told 
A giant made his den of old ; 
For ere that steep ascent was won, 
High in liis pathway hung the sun, 
And many a gallant, stay'd perforce. 
Was fain to breathe his faltering horse ; 
And of the trackers of the deer 
Scarce half the lessening pack was near; 
So shrewdly, on the mountain side, 
Had the bold burst their mettle tried. 

V. 

The noble Stag was pausing now 
Upon the mountain's southern brow, 
Where broad extended, far beneath. 
The varied realms of fair Menteith. 



With anxious eye he wander'd o'er 
Mountain and meadow, moss and moor. 
And ponder'd refuge from his toil. 
By far Lochard or Aberfoyle. 
But nearer was the copse-wood gray, 
That waved and wept on Loch-Acliray, 
And mingled with the pine-trees blue 
On the bold clifis of Ben-venue. 
Fresh vigour with the hope return'd. 
With flying foot the heath he spurn'd 
Held westward with unwearied race, 
And left behind the panting chase. 



'Twere long to tell what steeds gave o'er. 
As swept the hunt through Cambus-More ; 
What reins were tighten'd in despair, 
Wlien rose Benledi's ridge in air; 
Who flagged upon Bochastle's heath, 
Who shunn'd to stem the flooded Teith, — 
For twice, that day, from shore to shore. 
The gallant Stag swam stoutly o'er. 
Few were the stragglers, following far. 
That reach'd the lake of Vennachar ; 
And wlien the Brig of Turk was won, 
The headmost horseman rode alone. 

VII. 

Alone, but with unbated zeal. 

That horseman phed the scourge and steel ; 

For, jaded now, and spent with toil, 

Emboss'd with foam, and dark with soil. 

While every gasp with sobs he drew, 

The lab'ring Stag strain'd full in view. 

Two dogs of black St. Hubert's breed, 

Unmatch'd for courage, breath, and speed. 

Fast on his flying traces came. 

And all but won that desperate game ; 

For, scarce a spear's length from his haunch. 

Vindictive toil'd the blood-hounds staunch ; 

Nor nearer might the dogs attain. 

Nor farther might the quarry strain. 

Thus up the margin of the lake. 

Between the precipice and brake. 

O'er stock and rock their race they take. 



The hunter niark'd that mountain high. 
The lone lake's western boundary, 



THE CHASE. 



And deem'd the Stag must turn to bay, 
Wliero that huge rampart barr'd thu way ; 
Aheady glorymg in the prize, 
Measured his antlers with his eyes ; 
For the death-wound, and death-halloo, 
Muster'd his breath, liis whinyurd druw ; 
But thundering as he came prepared, 
With ready arm and weapon bared. 
The wily quarry shunn'd the shock, 
And turn'd him from th' opposing rock; 
Then, dashing down a darksome glen, 
Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken, 
In the deep Trosachs' wildest nook 
His solitary refuge took. 
There, while close couch'd, the thicket shed 
Cold dews and wUd flowers on his head. 
He heard the baffled dogs in vain 
Rave through the hollow pass amain 
Chiding the rocks that yell'd again. 



Close on the hounds the hunter came, 
To cheer them on the vanish'd game ; 
But, stumbUng in the rugged dell, 
The gallant horse exhausted fell. 
The impatient rider strove in vain 
To rouse him with the spur and rein, 
For the good steed, his labours o'er, 
Stretch'd liis stiff limbs to rise no more ; 
Then, touch'd with pity and remorse. 
He sorrow'd o'er the expiring horse. 
" I little thought, when first thy rein 
I slack'd upon the banks of Seine, 
That Highland eagle e'er should feed 
On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed ! 
Wo worth the chase, wo worth the day. 
That costs thy life, my gallant gray ! " — 



X. 

Then through the dell his horn resounds. 
From vain pursuit to call the hounds. 
Back limp'd, with slow and crippled pace, 
The sulky leaders of the chase ; 
Close to their master's side they press'd, 
With drooping tail and humbled crest ; 
But still the dingle's hoUow throat 
Prolong'd the sweUing bugle note. 



The owlets started from their dream. 
The eagles answor'd with their scream ; 
Round and around the sounds were cast, 
Till echo seem'd an answering blast ; 
And on the hunter hied his way, 
To join some comrades of the day ; 
Yet often paused, so strange the road, 
So wondrous were the scenes it showed. 

XI. 

The western waves of ebbing day 

RoU'd o'er the glen their level way ; 

Each purple peak, each flinty spire. 

Was bathed in floods of living fire. 

But not a setting beam could glow 

Within the dark ravines below. 

Where twined the path, in shadow liid. 

Round many a rocky pyramid. 

Shooting abruptly from the dell 

Its thunder-splinter'd pinnacle 

Round many an insulated mass. 

The native bulwarks of the pass, 

Hugo as the tower which builders vain 

Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain. 

The rocky summits, split and rent, 

Form'd turret, dome, or battlement, 

Or seem'd fantastically set 

With cupola or minaret ; 

Wild crests as pagod ever deck'd. 

Or mosque of Eastern architect. 

Nor were these earthborn castles bare. 

Nor lack'd they many a banner fair; 

For, from their shiver'd brows displayed, 

Far o'er the unfathomable glade, 

All twinkling with the dew-drop sheen. 

The briar-rose irfrti in streamers green, 

And creeping shrubs, of thousand dyes, 

Waved in the west-wind's summer sighs. 

XII. 

Boon nature scatter'd, free and wild. 
Each plant or flower, the mountain's child. 
Here eglantine embalm'd the air. 
Hawthorn and hazel mingled there ; 
The primrose pale, and violet flower. 
Found in each clifi" a narrow bower ; 
Foxglove and nightshade, side by side, 
Emblems of punishmput and pride, 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



Group'd their dark hues with every stain 
The weather-beateu crags retain. 
With boughs that quaked, at every breath, 
Gray birch and aspen wept beneath; 
Aloft, the ash and warrior oak 
Cast anchor in the rifted rock ; 
And, higher yet, the pine-tree hung 
His shatter'd trunk, and frequent flung, 
Where seem'd the cliffs to meet on high. 
His boughs athwart the iiarrow'd sky. 
Highest of all where white peaks glanc'd, 
Wliere glist'ning streamers waved and danced 
The wanderer's eye could barely view 
The summer heaven's delicious blue ; 
So wondrous wild, the whole might seem 
The scenery of a fairy dream. 

xin. 

Onward, amid the copse, 'gan peep 
A narrow inlet, still and deep. 
Affording scarce such breadth of brim. 
As served the wild duck's brood to swim ; 
Lost for a space, through thickets veering. 
But broader when again appearing. 
Tall rocks and tufted knolls their face 
Could on the dark-blue mirror trace ; 
And, farther, as the hunter stray'd. 
Still broader sweep its channel made. 
The shaggy mounds no longer stood 
Emerging from entangled wood, 
But, wave-encircled, seem'd to float, 
Like castle girdled with its moat ; 
Yet broader floods extending stLU, 
Divide them from their parent liiU, 
TlU each, retiring, claims to be 
An islet in an inland sea. 

XIV. 

And now, to issue from the glen. 

No pathway meets the wanderer's ken, 

Unless he climb, with footing nice, 

A far projecting precipice. 

The broom's tough roots liis ladder made, 

The hazel saplings lent their aid ; 

And thus an airy point he won, 

Where, gleaming with the setting sun, 

One burnish'd sheet of living gold, 

Loch-Katrine lay beneath him roll'd ; 



In all her length far winding lay. 

With promontory, creek, and bay. 

And islands that, emi3urpled bright. 

Floated amid the livelier light ; 

And moimtains, that like giants stand. 

To sentinel enchanted land. 

High on the south huge Ben-venue 

Do\vn on the lake in masses threw 

Crags, knolls, and moimds, confus'dly hurl'd. 

The fragments of an earlier world. 

A wildering forest feather'd o'er 

His ruiu'd sides and summit hoar. 

While on the north, tlirough middle air, 

Ben-an heaved high liis forehead bare. 



XV. 

From the steep promontory gazed 

The stranger, raptured and amazed. 

And, " What a scene were here," he cried, 

" For princely pomp or churchman's pride ! 

On this bold brow a lordly tower; 

In that soft vale a lady's bower ; 

On yonder meadow, far away, 

The tuiTets of a cloister gray. 

How blithely might the bugle horn 

Chide, on the lake, the lingering morn ! 

How sweet, at eve, the lover's lute 

Chime, when the groves were still and mute ; 

And, when the midnight moon should lave 

Her forehead in the silver wave. 

How solemn on the ear would come 

The holy matin's distant hum, 

While the deep peal's commanding tone 

Should wake, in yonder islet lone, 

A sainted hermit from his cell. 

To drop a bead with every kneU — 

And bugle, lute, and beU, and all. 

Should each bewilder'd stra-.iger call 

To friendly feast, and lighted hall. 

XVI. 

" Blithe were it then to wander here ! 
But now, — beshrew yon nimble deer, — 
Lilce that same hermit's, thin and spare 
The copse must give my evening fare ; 
Some mossy bank my couch must be, 
Some rustUng oak my canopy. 



THE CHASE. 







Yet pass we that ; — the war and chase 
Give little choice of resting-place; — 
A summer night, in green-wood spent, 
Were but to-morrow's merriment; 
But hosts may in these wilds abound, 
Such as are better niiss'd tlian found. 
To meet with Higliland plunderers here 
"Were worse than loss of steed or deer. — 
I am alone ; my bugle strain 
May call some straggler of the train ; 
Or, fall the worst that may betide, 
Ere now this faulchion has been tried." 

XVII. 

But scarce again his horn he wound, 

When lo ! forth starting at the sound, 

From underneath an aged oak, 

That slanted from the islet rock, 

A Damsel, guider of its way, 

A Little skiff shot to the bay, 

That round the promontory steep 

Led its deep line in graceful sweep, 

Eddying, in almost viewless wave, 

The weeping willow twig to lave. 

And kiss, with whispering sound and slow, 

The beach of pebbles bright as snow. 

The boat had touch'd this silver strand, 

Just as the hunter left liis stand, 

And stood conceal'd amid the brake. 

To view this Lady of the Lake. 

The maiden paused, as if again 

She thought to catch the distant strain. 

With head upraised, and look intent. 

And eye and ear attentive bent. 

And locks flung back, and lips apart, 

Like monument of Grecian art. 

In list'ning mood, she seem'd to stand 

The guardian Naiad of the strand. 

XVIII. 

And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace 

A nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace, 

Of finer form, or lovelier face ! 

What though the sun, -with ardent fro\yn, 

Had slightly tinged her cheek with brown,- 

The sportive toil, which, short and light. 

Had dyed her glowing hue so bright, 



Served too in hastier swell to show 

Short glimpses of a breast of snow. 

What though no rule of coiu-tly grace 

To measured mood had train'd her pace, — 

A foot more light, a step more true. 

Ne'er from the heath-flower dash'd the dew ; 

E'en the slight hare-bell raised its head, 

Elastic from her airy tread. 

What though upon her speech there hung 

The accents of the mountain tongue, — 

Those silver sounds, so soft, so dear, 

The Ust'ner held his breath to hear. 

XIX. 

A chieftain's daughter seem'd the maid ; 
Her satin snood, her silken plaid, 
Her golden brooch, such birth betray'd. 
And seldom was a snood amid 
Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid, 
AATiose glossy black to shame might bring 
The plumage of the raven's wing; 
And seldom o'er a breast so fair 
Mantled a plaid with modest care. 
And never brooch the fold combined 
Above a heart more good and kind. 
Her kindness and her worth to spy, 
You need but gaze ou Ellen's eye ; 
Not Katrine, in her mirror blue, 
Gives back the shaggy banks more true, 
Than every free-born glance confess'd 
The guileless movements of her breast ; 
Whether joy danced in her dark eye. 
Or wo or pity claim'd a sigh. 
Or filial love was glowing there. 
Or meek devotion pour'd a prayer, 
Or tale of injury call'd forth 
The indignant spirit of the north. 
One only passion, unreveal'd. 
With maiden pride the maid conceal'd; 
Yet not less purely felt the flame : — 
need I tell that passion's name ! 

XX- 

Lnpatient of the silent horn. 
Now on the gale her voice was borne : 
" Father ! " she cried ; the rocks around 
Loved to prolong the gentle sound. 



10 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



Awhile she paused, no answer came. — 

"Malcolm, was thine the blast?" The name 

Less resolutely utter'd fell. 

The echoes could not catch the swell. 

"A stranger I," the Himtsman said, 

Advancing from the hazel shade. 

The maid, alarm'd, with hasty oar 

Push'd her light shaUop from the shore, 

And when a space was gain'd between, 

Closer she drew her bosom screen, 

(So forth the startled swan would swing, 

So turn to prune his ruffled wing ;) 

Then safe, though flutter'd and amazed. 

She paused, and on the stranger gazed. 

Not his the form, nor his the eye, 

That youthful maidens wont to fly. 

XXI. 

On his bold visage middle age 

Had slightly press'd its signet sage, 

Yet had not quench'd the open truth. 

And fiery vehemence of youth ; 

Forward and frolic glee was there. 

The will to do, the soul to dare, 

The sparkling glance, soon blown to fire, 

Of hasty love, or headlong ire. 

His limbs were cast in manly mould, 

'For hardy sports, or contest bold ; 

And though in peaceful garb array'd. 

And weaponless, except his blade. 

His stately mien as well implied 

A high-born heart, a martial pride. 

As if a baron's crest he wore. 

And sheathed in armour trod the shore. 

Slighting the petty need he show'd. 

He told of his benighted road ; 

His ready speech flow'd fair and free. 

In phrase of gentlest courtesy ; 

Yet seem'd that tone, and gesture bland, 

Less used to sue than to command. 

XXII. 

Awhile the maid the Stranger eyed, 
And, reassured, at length replied, 
That Highland halls were open still 
To wilder'd wanderers of the hill. 
" Nor think you unexpected come 
To yon lone Isle, our desert home ; 



Before the heath had lost the dew. 
This morn, a couch was puU'd for you ; 
On yonder mountain's purple head 
Have ptarmigan and heath-cock bled. 
And our broad nets have swept the mere. 
To furnish forth your evening cheer." — 
" Now, by the rood, my lovely maid. 
Your courtesy has err'd," he said : 
" No right have I to claim, misplaced, 
The welcome of expected guest. 
A wanderer here, by fortune tost. 
My way, my friends, my courser lost, 
I ne'er before, believe me, fair. 
Have ever dra^vn your mountain air. 
Tin on this lake's romantic strand, 
I found a fay in fairy land." — 

XXIII. 

" I well believe," the maid replied. 

As her light skiff approaoh'd the side, — 

" I well believe, that ne'er before 

Your foot has trod Loch-Katrine's shore ; 

But yet, as far as yesternight. 

Old Allan-baue foretold your plight, — 

A gray-hair'd sire, whose eye intent 

Was on the vision'd future bent. 

He saw your steed, a dappled gray. 

Lie dead beneath the birchen way ; 

Painted exact your form and mien. 

Your hunting suit of Lincoln green. 

That tassell'd horn so gaily gilt. 

That faulchion's crooked blade and hUt, 

That cap with heron plumage trim. 

And yon two hounds so dark and grim. 

He bade that all should ready be. 

To grace a guest of fair degree ; 

But light I held his prophecy, 

And deem'd it was my father's horn, 

WTiose echoes o'er the lake were borne." — 

xxrv. 

The Stranger smiled : — " Since to your home 
A destined errant knight I come. 
Announced by prophet sooth and old, 
Loom'd, doubtless, for achievement bold, 
I'll lightly front each high emprise, 
For one kind glance of those bright eyes. 
Permit me, first, the task to guide 
Your fairy frigate o'er the tide." — 



THE CHASE. 



11 



The maid, with smile suppress'd and sly, 
The toil unwonted saw him try ; 
For seldom, sure, if e'er before. 
His noble hand had grasp'd an oar : 
Yet with main sti'ength liis strokes he drew, 
And o'er the lake the shallop flew; 
With heads erect, and whimpering cry, 
Tlie hounds behind their passage ply. 
Nor frequent does the bright oar break 
The darkening mirror of the lake, 
Until the rocky isle they reach. 
And moor their shallop on the beach. 

XXV. 

The Stranger view'd the shore around ; 
'Twas all so close with copse-wood bound, 
Nor track nor pathway might declare 
That human foot frequented there, 
Until the mountain-maiden show'd 
A clambering unsuspected road. 
That winded through the tangled screen, 
And open'd on a narrow green, 
Where weeping birch and willow round 
With their long fibres swept the ground ; 
Here, for retreat in dangerous hour. 
Some chief had framed a rustic bower. 

XXVI. 

It was a lodge of ample size. 

But strange of structure and device ; 

Of such materials as around 

The workman's hand had readiest found. 

Lopp'd of their boughs, their hoar trunks 

bared, 
And by the hatchet rudely squared, 
To give the walls their destined height. 
The sturdy oak and ash unite ; 
AVhile moss and clay and leaves combined 
To fence each crevice from the wind. 
The lighter pine-trees, over head, 
Their slender length for rafters spread. 
And wither'd heath and rushes dry 
Supplied a russet canopy. 
Due westward, fronting to the green, 
A rural portico was seen. 
Aloft on native pillars borne. 
Of mountain fir with bark unshorn, 
"\Miere Ellen's hand had taught to twine 
The ivy and Idsean vine, 



The clematis, the favour'd flower 
Wliich boasts the name of virgin-bower. 
And every hardy plant could bear 
Loch-Katrine's keen and searching air. 
An instant in this porch she stay'd. 
And gaily to the Stranger said, 
" On heaven and on thy lady call, 
And enter the enchanted hall ! " — • 

XXVII. 

"My hope, my heaven, my trust must be. 

My gentle guide, in following thee." — 

He cross'd the threshold — and a clang 

Of angry steel that instant rang. 

To his bold brow his spirit rush'd. 

But soon for vain alarm he blush'd. 

When on the floor he saw display'd. 

Cause of the din, a naked blade, 

Dropp'd from the sheath, that careless flung 

Upon a stag's huge antlers swung ; 

For all around, the walls to grace. 

Hung trophies of the fight or chase : 

A target there, a bugle here, 

A battle-axe, a himting spear. 

And broad-swords, bows, and arrows store. 

With the tusk'd trophies of the boar. 

Here grins the wolf as when he died, 

And there the wild cat's brindled hide 

The frontlet of the elk adorns. 

Or mantles o'er the bison's horns ; 

Pennons and flags defaced and stain'd, 

That blackening streaks of blood retain'd. 

And deer-skins, dappled, dun, and white. 

With otter's fur and seal's, unite. 

In rude and uncouth tapestry all. 

To garnish forth the sylvan hall. 

XXVIII. 

The wondering Stranger round him gazed. 

And next the fallen weapon raised ; — 

Few were the arms whose sinewy strength 

Sufficed to stretch it forth at length. 

And as the brand he pois'd and sway'd, 

" I never knew but one," he said, 

" TN^iose stalwart arm might brook to wield 

A blade like this in battle-field." — 

She sigh'd, then smiled and took the word, 

" You see the guardian champion's sword ; 



12 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



As light it trembles in his hand, 

As in my grasp a hazel wand ; 

My sire's tall form might grace the part 

Of Ferragus, or Ascabart ; 

But in the absent giant's hold 

Are women now, and menials old." — 



XXIX. 

The mistress of the mansion came, 

Mature of age, a graceful dame ; 

Whose easy step and stately port 

Had well become a princely court. 

To whom though more than kindred knew. 

Young Ellen gave a mother's due. 

Meet welcome to her guest she made. 

And every courteous rite was paid 

That hospitality could claim. 

Though all unask'd his birth and name. 

Such then the reverence to a guest, 

That fellest foe might join the feast, 

And from his deadliest foeman's door 

Unquestion'd turn, the banquet o'er. 

At length his rank the Stranger names, 

"The knight of Snowdoun, James Fitz- 

James ; 
Lord of a barren heritage, 
Which his brave sires, from age to age. 
By their good swords had held with toil ; 
His sire had fallen in such turmoil. 
And he, God wot, was forced to stand 
Oft for his right with blade in hand. 
This morning with Lord Moray's train 
He chased a stalwart stag in vain, 
Outstripp'd his comrades, miss'd the deer. 
Lost his good steed, and wander'd here." — 



Fain would the Knight in turn require 
The name and state of Ellen's sire ; 
Well show'd the elder lady's mien, 
That courts and cities she had seen : 
Ellen, though more her looks display'd 
The simple grace of sylvan maid, 



In speech and gesture, form and face, 
Show'd .she was come of gentle race ; 
'Twere strange in ruder rank to find 
Such looks, such manners, and such mind. 
Each hint the Knight of Snowdoun gave, 
Dame Margaret heard with silence grave ; 
Or EUen, innocently gay, 
Turn'd all inquiry light away ; 
" Weird women we ! by dale and down 
We dwell, afar from tower and town. 
We stem the flood, we ride the blast, 
On wandering knights our speUs we cast ; 
While viewless minstrels touch the string, 
'Tis thus our charmed rhymes we sing." — 
She sung, and stiU a harp unseen 
Fill'd up the symphony between. 



" Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er. 

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking ; 
Dream of battled fields no more. 

Days of danger, nights of waking. 
In our isle's enchanted hall. 

Hands unseen thy couch are strewing. 
Fairy strains of music fall. 

Every sense in slumber dewing. 
Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, 
Dream of fighting fields no more ; 
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking. 
Mom of toil, nor night of waking. 

" No rude sound shall reach thine ear, 

Armour's clang, or war-steed champing, 
Trump nor pibroch summon here 

Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. 
Yet the lark's shrill fife may come 

At the daybreak from the fallow. 
And the bittern sound his drum, 

Booming from the sedgy shallow. 
Ruder sounds shall none be near. 
Guards nor warders challenge here. 
Here's no war-steed's neigli and champing, 
Shouting clans, or squadrons stamping." 



THE CHASE. 



13 



SOLDIER, REST! THY WARFARE O'ER. 

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THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



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XXXII. 

She paused — then, blushing, led the lay 
To grace the stranger of the day. 
Her meUow notes awhile prolong 
The cadence of the flowing song, 
TLU to her lips in measured frame 
The minstrel verse spontaneous came. 

SONG CONTINUED. 

" Himtsman, rest ! thy chase is done, 

Wliile our slumbrous spells assail ye, 
Dream not, with the rising sun, 

Bugles here shaU sound reveillie. 
Sleep ! the deer is in his den ; 

Sleep ! thy hounds are by thee lying ; 
Sleep ! nor dream in yonder glen, 

How thy gallant steed lay djnng. 
Huntsman, rest ; thy chase is done, 
Think not of the rising sun, 
For at dawning to assail ye, 
Here no bugles sound reveillie." 



The hall was clear'd — the Strangei-'s ved 
Was there of mountain heather spread, 
"WTiere oft an hundred guests had lain,- 
And dream'd their forest sports again. 
But vainly did the heath-flower shed 
Its moorland fragrance round his head ; 
Not Ellen's spell had luU'd to rest 
The fever of his troubled breast. 
In broken dreams the image rose 
Of varied perils, pains, and woes ; 
His steed now flounders in the brake, 
Now sinks his barge upon the lake ; 
Now leader of a broken host. 
His standard falls, his honour's lost. 
Then, — from my couch may heavenly might 
Chase that worse phantom of the night ! — 
Again return'd the scenes of youth, 
Of confident undoubting truth ; 
Again his soul he interchanged 
With friends whose hearts were long es- 
tranged. 



16 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



They come, m dim procession led, 
The cold, the faitliless, and the dead ; 
As warm each hand, each brow as gay, 
As if they parted yesterday. 
And doubt distracts him at the view, 
O were his senses false or true ! 
Dream'd he of death, or broken vow, 
Or is it all a vision now ! 



At length witli Ellen in a grove 

He seem'd to walk, and speak of love ; 

She listen'd with a blush and sigh, 

His suit was warm, his hopes were high. 

He sought her yielded hand to clasp, 

And a cold gauntlet met his grasp : 

The phantom's sex was changed and gone, 

Upon its head a helmet shone ; 

Slowly enlarged to giant size, 

With darken'd cheek and threatening eyes, 

The grisly visage, stern and hoar. 

To Ellen stiU a likeness bore. — 

He woke, and, panting with affright, 

Eecall'd the vision of the night. 

The hearth's decaying brands were red. 

And deep and dusky lustre shed. 

Half showing, half concealing all 

The uncouth trophies of the hall. 

Mid those the Stranger fixed his eye 

Wliere that huge faidchion hung on liigh. 

And thoughts on thoughts, a countless throng, 

Kush'd, chasing countless thoughts along, 



Until, the giddy whirl to cure. 

He rose, and sought the moonshine pure. 



The wild rose, eglantine, and broom. 

Wasted around their rich perfume ; 

The birch trees wept in fragrant balm, 

The aspen slept beneath the calm ; 

The silver light, with quivering glance, 

Play'd on the water's still expanse, — 

Wild were the heart whose passion's sway 

Could rage beneath the sober ray ! 

He felt its calm, that warrior guest, 

While thus he communed with his breast : 

" Why is it at each turn I trace 

Some memory of that exiled race? 

Can I not mountain maiden spy, 

But she must bear the Douglas eye ? 

Can I not view a Highland brand. 

But it must match the Douglas hand? 

Can I not frame a fever'd dream. 

But still the Douglas is the theme? — 

I'll dream no more — by manly mind 

Not e'en in sleep is will resign'd. 

My midnight orisons said o'er, 

I'll turn to rest, and dream no more." — 

His midnight orison he told, 

A prayer with every bead of gold, 

Consign'd to heaven his cares and woes. 

And sunk in undisturb'd repose ; 

Until the heath-cock shrilly crew. 

And morning dawn'd on Ben-venue. 




CANTO SECOND. 



THE ISLAND. 



At morn the black-cock trims liis jetty wing. 

'Tis morning prompts the linnet's blithest lay; 
All Nature's children feel the matin spring 

Of life reviving, with reviving day ; 
And while yon little bark glides down the 
bay, 
Wafting the Stranger on his way again, 
Morn's genial influence roused a minstrel gray, 
And sweetly o'er the lake was heard thy 

strain, 
Mix'd with the sounding harp, white-hair'd 
Allan Bane. 



" Xot faster yonder rowers' might 
Fling from their oars the spraj', 
Not faster yonder rippling bright. 
That tracks the shallop's course in light, 

Melts in the lake away. 
Than men from memory erase 
The benefits of former days ; 
Then, Stranger, go ! good speed the while. 
Nor think again of the lonely isle. 

" High place to thee in royal court, 
High place in battled line. 



Good hawk and hound for sylvan sport, 
Where Beauty sees the brave resort. 

The honour'd meed be thine ! 
True be thy sword, thy friend sincere, 
Thy lady constant, kind and dear, 
And lost in love's and friendship's smile, 
Be memory of the lonely isle." 



.ni. 



SONG CONTINUED. 

■ But if beneath yon southern sky 
A plaided stranger roam, 
Whose drooping crest and stifled sigh. 
And sunken cheek and heavy eye, 

Pine for his Highland home ; 
Then, warrior, then be thine to show 
The care that soothes a wanderer's wo ; 
Remember then thy hap erewhQe, 
A stranger in the lonely isle. 

" Or if on life's uncertain main 

Mishap shall mar thy sail ; 
If, faithful, wise, and bravo in vain, 
Wo, want, and exile thou sustain 

Beneath the fickle gale ; 
Waste not a sigh on fortune changed, 
On thankless courts, or friends estranged. 
But come where kindred worth shall smile, 
To greet thee in the lonely isle." — 



18 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



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As died the sounds upon the tide, 

The shallop reach'd the main-land side, 

And ere his onward way he took, 

The Stranger cast a lingering look, 

Wliere easily his eye might reach 

The Harper on the islet beach. 

Reclined against a blighted tree. 

As wasted, gray, and worn as he. 

To minstrel meditation given. 

His reverend brow was raised to heaven. 

As from the rising sun to claim 

A sparkle of inspiring flame. 

His hand, reclined upon the wire, 

Seem'd watching the awakening fire ; 

So still he sate, as those who wait 

TiU judgment speak the doom of fate ; 

So stUl, as if no breeze might dare 

To lift one lock of hoary hair ; 

So still, as life itself were fled. 

In the last sound his harp had sped. 



Upon a rock with lichens wild, 
Beside him Ellen sate and smiled. 
Smiled she to see the stately drake 
Lead forth his fleet upon the lake, 
Wliile her vex'd spaniel, from the beach, 
Bay'd at the prize beyond his reach ? 
Yet tell me then the maid who knows. 
Why deepen'd on her cheek the rose? — 
Forgive, forgive, Fidelity ! 
Perchance the maiden smiled to see 
Yon parting lingerer wave adieu, 
And stop and turn to wave anew ; 
And, lovely ladies, ere your ire 
Condemn the heroine of my lyre, 
Show me the fair woidd scorn to spy 
And prize such conquest of her eye ! 



While yet he loiter'd on the spot. 
It seem'd as Ellen mark'd him not; 



20 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



But when lie turn'J him to the glade, 

One courteous parting sign she made ; 

And after, oft the Knight wonld say, 

That not when prize of festal day 

Was dealt him by the brightest fair, 

Who e'er wore jewel in her hair, 

So highly did his bosom swell, 

As at that simple, mute farewell. 

Now with a trusty mountain guide, 

And his dark stag-hounds by his side, 

He parts — the maid, unconscious still. 

Watch 'd him wind slowly round the hill ; 

But when his stately form was hid. 

The guardian in her bosom chid — 

" Thy Malcolm ! vain and selfish maid ! " 

'Twas thus upbraiding conscience said, 

" Not so had Malcolm idly hung 

On the smooth phrase of southern tongue ; 

Not so had Malcolm strain'd his eye, 

Another step than thine to spy. — ■ 

Wake, Allan-bane," aloud she cried, 

To the old Minstrel by her side, 

" Arouse thee from thy moody dream ! 

I'U give thy harp heroic theme, 

And warm thee with a noble name ; 

Pour forth the glory of the Graeme." 

Scarce from her lip the word had rush'd. 

When deep the conscious maiden blush'd ; 

For of his clan, in hall and bower, 

Young Malcolm Graeme was held the flower." 

vn. 

The Minstrel waked his harp — three times 

Arose the well-known martial chimes, 

And thrice their high heroic pride 

In melancholy murmurs died. 

— " Vainly thou bid'st, noble maid," 

Clasping his wither'd hands, he said, 

" Vainly thou bid'st me wake the strain, 

Though all unwont to hid in vain. 

Alas ! than mine a mightier hand 

Has tuned my harp, my strings has spann'd ! 

I touch the chords of joy, but low 

And mournful answer notes of wo ; 

And the proud march which victors tread 

Sinks in the wailing for the dead. — 

well for me, if mine alone 

That dirge's deep prophetic tone ! 



If, as my tuneful fathers said. 

This harp, which erst Saint Modan sway'd, 

Can thus its master's fate foretell, 

Then welcome be the minstrel's knell ! 

VIII. 

" But ah ! dear lady, thus it sigh'd 

The eve thy sainted mother died ; 

And such the sounds which, while I strove 

To wake a lay of war or love. 

Came marring all the festal mirth, 

Appalling me who gave them birth, 

And, disobedient to my call, 

Wail'd loud through Bothwell's banner'd hall. 

Ere Douglasses, to ruin driven. 

Were exiled from their native heaven. — 

Oh ! if yet worse mishap and wo 

My master's house must undergo, 

Or aught but weal to Ellen fair. 

Brood in these accents of despair, 

No future bard, sad Harp ! shall fling 

Triumph or rapture from thy string ; 

One short, one final strain shall flow. 

Fraught with unutterable wo, 

Then shiver'd shall thy fragments lie, 

Thy master cast him down and die." 

IX. 

Soothing she answer'd him, "Assuage 
Mine honour'd friend, the fears of age ; 
AH melodies to thee are known. 
That harp has rung, or pipe has blown, 
in Lowland vale or Highland glen, 
From Tweed to Spey — what marvel, then. 
At times, unbidden notes should rise. 
Confusedly bound in memory's ties, 
Entangling, as they rush along. 
The war-march with the funeral song? — 
SmaU ground is now for boding fear ; 
Obscure, but safe, we rest us here. 
My sire, in native virtue great, 
Resigning lordship, lands, and state. 
Not then to fortune more resign'd. 
Than yonder oak might give the wind : 
The graceful foliage storms may reave. 
The noble stem they cannot grieve. 
For me," — she stoop'd, and, lookinj i ■ 
Pluck'd a blue hare-bell from the gio ; 



THE ISLAND. 



21 



" For me, whose memory scarce conveys 

An image of more splendid days, 

This little flower that loves the lea, 

May well my simple emblem be ; 

It drinks heaven's dew as blithe as rose 

That in the King's own garden grows ; 

And when I place it in my hair, 

Allan, a bard is bound to swear 

He ne'er saw coronet so fair." — 

Then playfully the chaplet wild 

She wreathed in her dark locks, and smiled. 



Her smile, her speech, with winning sway, 
Wiled the old harper's mood away. 
With such a look as hermits tlirow 
Wlien angels stoop to soothe their wo. 
He gazed till fond regret and pride 
Thrill'd to a tear, then thus replied : 
" Loveliest and best ! thou little know'st 
The rank, the honours thou hast lost ! 
might I live to see thee grace, 
In Scotland's court, thy birthright place. 
To see my favourite's step advance. 
The lightest in the courtly dance. 
The cause of every gallant's sigh, 
And leading star of every eye. 
And theme of every minstrel's art. 
The Lady of the Bleeding Heart!"* 

XI. 

" Fair dreams are these," the maiden cried, 
(Light was her accent, yet she sigh'd,) 
" Yet is this mossy rock to me 
Worth splendid chair and canopy ; 
Nor would my footstep spring more gay 
In courtly dance than blithe strathspey. 
Nor half so pleased mine ear incline 
To royal minstrel's lay as thine ; 
And then for suitors proud and high, 
To bend before my conquering eye. 
Thou, flattering bard! thyself wilt say. 
That grim Sir Roderick owns its sway. 
The Saxon scourge, Clan-Alpine's pride. 
The terror of Loch-Lomond's side. 



• The well-known cognisance of the Douglas femily. 



Would, at uiy suit, thou know'st, delay 
A Lennox foray — for a ilary." 



The ancient bard his glee repress'd : 

" 111 hast thou chosen theme for jest ! 

For who, through all tliis western wild, 

Named Black Sir Roderick e'er, and smiled ! 

In Holy-Rood a knight he slew ; 

I saw, when back the dirk he drew. 

Courtiers give place before the stride 

Of the undaunted homicide ; 

And since, though outlaw'd, hath liis hand 

Full sternly kept his mountain land. 

Who else dared give, — ah ! wo the day, 

That I such hated truth should say, — 

The Douglas, like a stricken deer, 

Disown'd by every noble peer. 

Even the rude refuge we have here. 

Alas, tliis wild marauding chief 

Alone might hazard our relief. 

And now thy maiden charms expand. 

Looks for his guerdon in thy hand; 

Full soon may dispensation sought, 

To back his suit, from Rome be brought. 

Then though an exile on the hiU, 

Thy father, as the Douglas, still 

Be held in reverence and fear; 

And though to Roderick thou'rt so dear. 

That thou might'st guide with silken thread. 

Slave of thy will, this chieftain dread ; 

Yet, loved maid, thy mirth refrain ! 

Thy hand is on a lion's mane." 



" Minstrel," the maid replied, and high 

Her father's soul glanced from her eye, 

" My debts to Roderick's house I know : 

All that a mother could bestow. 

To Lady Margaret's care I owe, 

Since first an orphan in the wild 

She sorrow'd o'er her sister's child : 

To her brave chieftain son, from ire 

Of Scotland's King who shrouds my sire, 

A deeper, holier debt is owed ; 

And, could I pay it with my blood. 



22 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



Allan ! Sir Koderick should command 
My blood, my life, — but not my hand. 
Kather wiU EUen Douglas dwell 
A votaress in Maronnan's cell ; 
Rather through realms beyond the sea, 
Seeking the world's cold charity. 
Where ne'er was spoke a Scottish word, 
And ne'er the name of Douglas heard. 
An outcast pilgrim will she rove. 
Than wed the man she cannot love. 

XIV. 

" Thou shakest, good friend, thy tresses gray, 

That pleading look, what can it say 

But what I own 1 — I grant him brave. 

But wild as Bracklinn's thundering wave ; 

And generous — save vindictive mood, 

Or jealous transport, chafe his blood ; 

I grant him true to friendly band, 

As his claymore is to his hand ; 

But O ! that very blade of steel 

More mercy for a foe would feel ; 

I grant him liberal, to fling 

Among his clan the wealth they bring, 

MTien back by lake and glen they wind. 

And in the Lowland leave behind, 

Where once some pleasant hamlet stood, 

A mass of ashes slaked with blood. 

The hand that for my father fought, 

I honour, as his daughter ought ; 

But can I clasp it reeking red, 

From peasants slaughter'd in their shed? 

No ! wildly while his virtues gleam. 

They make his passions darker seem. 

And flash along his spirit high, 

Like lightning o'er the midnight sky. 

Wliile yet a child, — and children know. 

Instinctive taught, the friend and foe, — 

I shudder'd at his brow of gloom. 

His shadowy plaid, and sable plume ; 

A maiden grown, I ill could bear 

His haughty mien and lordly air ; 

But, if thou join'st a suitor's claim. 

In serious mood, to Roderick's name, 

I thrill with anguish ! or, if e'er 

A Douglas knew the word, with fear. 

To change such odious theme were best — 

Whut think'st thou of our stranger guest?" 



"What think I of him? — wo the while 

That brought sucli wanderer to our isle ! 

Thy father's battle-brand, of yore 

For Tineman forged by fairy lore, 

Wliat time he leagued, no longer foes, 

His border spears with Hotspur's bows, 

Did, self-unscabbarded, foreshow 

The footstep of a secret foe. 

If courtly spy had harbour'd here. 

What may we for the Douglas fear? 

What for this island, deem'd of old 

Clan- Alpine's last and surest hold ! 

If neither spy nor foe, I pray 

What yet may jealous Roderick say? 

— Nay, wave not thy disdainful head ! 

Bethink thee of the tliscord dread, 

That kindled when at Beltane game 

Thou led'st the dance with Malcolm Grseme; 

Still, though thy sire the peace renew'd, 

Smoulders in Roderick's breast the feud ; 

Beware ! — But hark, what sounds are these 1 

My duU ears catch no faltering breeze. 

No weeping birch, nor aspens wake, 

Nor breath is dimpling in the lake, 

StiU is the canna's* hoary beard. 

Yet, by my minstrel faith, I heard — 

And hark again ! — some pipe of war 

Sends the bold pibroch from afar." 

XVI. 

Far up the lengthen'd lake were spied 
Four darkening specks upon the tide, 
That, slow, enlarging on the view. 
Four mann'd and masted barges grew, 
And bearing downwards from Glengyle, 
Steer'd fidl upon the lonely isle; 
The point of Brianchoil they pass'd. 
And, to the windward as they cast. 
Against the sun they gave to shine 
The bold Sir Roderick's banner'd Pine. 
Nearer and nearer as they bear. 
Spears, pikes, and axes flash in air. 
Now might you see the tartans brave, 
And plaids and plumage dance and wave; 

♦ Cotton-grass. 



THE ISLAND. 



23 



Now see the bonnets sink auJ rise, 

As his tough oar the rower plies ; 

See flashing at each sturdy stroke, 

The wave ascending into smoke ; 

See the proud pipers on tlie bow, 

And mark the gaudy streamers flow 

From their loud chanters* down, and sweep 

The furrow'd bosom of the deep. 

As rushing through the lake amain, 

They plied the ancient Highland strain. 



Ever, as on they bore, more loud 

And louder rung the pibroch proud. 

At first the sound, by distance tame, 

Mellow'd along the waters came, 

And lingering long by cape and bay, 

Wail'd every harsher note away ; 

Then bursting bolder on the ear, 

The clan's shriU Gathering they could hear ; 

Those thrilling sounds, that call the might 

Of old Clan-Alpine to the fight. 

Thick beat the rapid notes, as when 

The mustering hundreds shake the glen, 

And hurrying at the signal dread. 

The batter'd earth returns their tread. 

Then prelude light, of livelier tone, 

Express'd their merry marching on. 

Ere peal of closing battle rose. 

With mingled outcry, shrieks, and blows ; 

And mimic din of stroke and ward. 

As broadsword upon target jarr'd ; 

And groaning pause, ere yet again. 

Condensed, the battle yell'd amain ; 

The rapid charge, the rallying shout, 

Retreat borne headlong into rout. 

And bursts of triumph, to declare 

ClanAlpine's conquest — all were there. 

Nor ended thus the strain ; but slow. 

Sunk in a moan prolong'd and low. 

And changed the conquering clarion swell. 

For wild lament o'er those that fell. 



The war-pipes ceased ; but lake and hill 
Were busy with their echoes still ; 

* Tlie drone of the bay-i)ipe. 



And, when they slept, a vocal strain 
Bade their hoarse chorus wake again. 
While loud an hundred clansmen raise 
Their voices in their Chieftain's praise. 
Each boatman, bending to his oar. 
With measured sweep the burden bore. 
In such wild cadence as the breeze 
Makes through December's leafless trees. 
The chorus first could Allan know, 
" Roderich Vich Alpine, ho ! iro ! " 
And near, and nearer as they row'd. 
Distinct the martial ditty flow'd. 

xn. 

BOAT SONG. 

Had to the Chief who in triumph advances ! 

Honour'd and bless'd be the ever-green Pine ! 
Long may the Tree in his banner that glances, 
Flourish, tlie shelter and grace of our line ! 
Heaven send it happy dew. 
Earth lend it sap anew, 
GaUy to bourgeon, and broadly to grow ; 
While every Higliland glen 
Sends our shout back again, 
" Roderigh Vich Alpine Dhu, ho ! ieroe ! " 

Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain. 

Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade : 
When the whirlwind has stripp'd every leaf on 
the mountain 
The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade. 
Moor'd in the rifted rock. 
Proof to tlie tempest's shock. 
Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow ; 
Menteith and Breadalbane, then. 
Echo his praise again, 
" Roderigh Vich Alpine Dhu, ho ! ieroe ! " 



Proudly our pibroch has thriU'd in Glen Fruin, 
And Banochar's groans to our Slogan replied ; 
Glen Luss and Ross-Dhu, they are smoking in 
ruin. 
And the best of Loch-Lomond lie dead on her 
side. 
Widow and Saxon maid 
Long shall lament our raid, • 



24 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



Think of Clan-Alpiue with fear aud with wo ; 


! that the rose-bud that graces you islands 


Lennox and Leven-glen 


Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine. 


SI lake when they hear again, 


that some seedling gem, 


" Koderigh Vich Alpine Dhu, ho ! ieroe ! " 


Worthy such noble stem. 




Honour'd and bless'd in their shadow, might 




grow ! 


Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the High- 


Loud should Clan-Alpine then 


lands ! 


Eing from her deepmost glen, 


Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green Pine ! 


" Roderigh Vich Alpine Dhu, ho ! ieroe ! " 



AUegro. Con spirito. 



HAIL TO THE CHIEF. 

:4rranffed by DAVIS SMALL. 



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Hail to the Chief who in tri-umph ad - van - ces ! Honour'd and bless'd be the ev - er-green Pine ! 



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Long may the Tree in his ban-ner that glan - ces, Flourish, the shel-ter and grace of our line: 




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THE ISLAND. 



25 



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Heav'n sen J it hap -py dew, Earth leud it sap a - new, Gai - ly to bourgeon, and broadly to grow; 




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While ev'ry Highland glen Sends our shout back again," Koderigh Vich ^U-pine Dhu, ho ! i - er - oe ! 




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26 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



XXI. 

Witli all lier joyful female baud, 
Had Lady Margaret sought the strand. 
Loose on the breeze their tresses flew, 
And high their snowy arms they threw. 
As echoing back with shriU acclaim, 
And chorus wild, the Chieftain's name ; 
While, prompt to please, with mother's 

art, 
The darling passion of his heart. 
The dame call'd Ellen to the strand 
To greet her kinsman ere he land : 
" Come, loiterer, come ! a Douglas thou, 
And shun to wreathe a victor's brow ? " 
Reluctantly and slow, the maid 
Th' unwelcome summoning obey'd. 
And, when a distant bugle rung, 
Tn the mid-path aside she sprung : 
" List, AUan-bane ! From main-land cast, 
I hear my father's signal blast. 
Be ours," she cried, " the skiff to guide. 
And waft him from the mountain side." 
Then, like a sunbeam, swift and bright, 
She darted to her slialhip light, 
And, eagerly while Roderick scann'd, 
For her dear form, his mother's band. 
The islet far behind her lay. 
And she had landed in the bay. 



Some feelings are to mortals given 

With less of earth in them than heaven ; 

And if there be a human tear 

From passion's dross refined and clear, 

A tear so limpid and so meek, 

It would not stain an angel's cheek, 

'Tis tliat which pious fathers shed 

Upon a duteous daughter's head ! 

And as the Douglas to his breast 

His darling Ellen closely press'd, 

Such holy drops her tresses steep'd. 

Though 'twas an hero's eye that weep'd ; 

Nor, while on Ellen's faltering tongue 

Her filial welcomes crowded hung, 

Mark'd she, that fear (affection's proof) 

Still held a graceful youth aloof; 

No ! not till Douglas named his name, 

Although the youth was Malcolm Grseme. 



XXIII. 

Allan, with wistful look the while, 

Mark'd Roderick landing on the isle ; 

His master piteously he eyed. 

Then gazed upon the Cliieftain's pride. 

Then dash'd, with ha^ty hand, away 

From his dimm'd eye the gathering spray ; 

And Douglas, as his hand he laid 

On Malcolm's shoulder, kindly said, 

" Canst thou, young friend, no meaning spy 

In my poor follower's glistening eye ? 

I'U tell thee : — he recalls the day. 

When in my praise he led the lay 

O'er the arched gate of Bothwell proud. 

While many a minstrel answer'd loud, 

When Percy's Norman pennon, won 

In bloody field, before me shone. 

And twice ten knights, the least a name 

As mighty as yon chief may claim. 

Gracing my pomp, behind me came. 

Yet trust me, Malcolm, not so proud 

Was I of all that marshaU'd crowd. 

Though the waned crescent own'd ray might. 

And in my train troop'd lord and knight, 

Though Blantyre hymn'd her holiest lays. 

And Bothwell's bards flung back my praise. 

As when this old man's silent tear. 

And tliis poor maid's affection dear, 

A welcome give more kind and true 

Than aught my better fortunes knew. 

Forgive, my friend, a father's boast ; 

! it out-beggars all I lost ! " 



Delightful praise ! — like summer rose. 
That brighter in the dew-drop glows. 
The bashfid maiden's cheek appear'd. 
For Douglas spoke, and Malcolm heard. 
The flush of shamefaced joy to hide. 
The hounds, the hawk, her cares divide ; 
The loved caresses of the maid 
The dogs with crouch and whimper paid ; 
And, at her whistle, on her hand 
The falcon took his favourite stand. 
Closed his dark wing, relax'd his eye. 
Nor, though unhooded, sought to fly. 
And, trust, while in such guise she stood, 
Like fabled Goddess of the Wood, 



THE ISLAND. 



27 



That if a father's partial thought 
O'ei'weigh'd her wortli and beauty aught, 
Well might the lover's judgment fail 
To balance with a juster scale; 
For with each secret glance he stole, 
The fond enthusiast sent his soul. 



Of stature fair, and slender frame, 

But firmly knit, was Malcolm Graeme; 

The belted plaid and tartan hose 

Did ne'er more graceful limbs disclose ; 

His flaxen hair, of sunny hue, 

Curl'd closely round his bonnet blue. 

Train'd to the chase, his eagle eye 

The ptarmigan in snow could spy ; 

Each pass, by mountain, lake, and heath, 

He knew, through Lennox and Menteith ; 

Vain was the bound of dark-brown doe, 

Wlien Malcolm bent his sounding bow, 

And scarce that doe, though wing'd with fear, 

Outstripp'd in speed the mountaineer : 

Eriglit up Ben-Lomond could he press. 

And not a sob his toil confess. 

His form accorded with a mind 

Lively and ardent, frank and kind ; 

A blither heart, till Ellen came. 

Did never love nor sorrow tame. 

It danced as lightsome in his breast. 

As play'd the feather on his crest. 

Yet friends, who nearest knew the youth. 

His scorn of AVTOng, his zeal for truth. 

And bards, who saw his features bold. 

When kiniUed by the tales of old. 

Said, were that youth to manhood grown, 

Not long should Eoderick Dhu's renown 

Be foremost voiced by mountain fame. 

But quail to that of Malcolm Graeme. 



Now back they wend their watery way. 
And, " my sire ! " did Ellen say, 
"Why urge thy chase so far astray? 
And why so late returned? And why"- 
The rest was in her speaking eye. 
"My child, the chase I follow far, 
'Tis mimicry of noble war ; 



And with that gallant pastime reft, 
Were all of Douglas I have left. 
I met young Malcolm as I stray'd 
Far eastward, in Glentinlas' shade. 
Nor stray'd I safe, for, all around, 
Hunters and horsemen scour'd the ground. 
This youth, though still a royal ward, 
Eisked Ufe and land to be my guard. 
And through the passes of the wood 
Guided my steps, not unpursued ; 
And Roderick shall his welcome make, 
Despite old spleen, for Douglas' sake. 
Then must he seek Strath-Endriok glen. 
Nor peril aught for me again." 

XXVII. 

Sir Roderick, who to meet them came, 
Redden'd at sight of Malcolm Graeme, 
Yet, not in action, word or eye, 
Fail'd aught in hospitality. 
In talk and sport they whiled away 
The morning of that .summer day ; 
But at high noon a courier light 
Held secret parley with the Knight, 
\\^lose moody aspect soon declared. 
That evil were the news he heard. 
Deep thought seem'd toUing in his head; 
Yet was the evening banquet made, 
Ere he assembled round the flame. 
His mother, Douglas, and the Graeme, 
And Ellen, too ; then cast around 
His eyes, then fix'd them on the ground, 
As studying phrase that might avail 
Best to convey unplea.sant tale. 
Long with his dagger's hilt he play'd. 
Then raised his haughty brow, and said : 

XXVIII. 

" Short be my speech ; — nor time affords, 
Nor my plain temper, glozing words. 
Kinsman and father, — if such name 
Douglas vouchsafe to Roderick's claim ; 
Mine honour'd mother; Ellen — why, 
My cousin, turn away thine eye? — 
And Graeme ; in whom I hope to know 
Full soon a noble friend or foe, 
Wlien age shall give thee thy command, 
And leading in thy native land, — • 



28 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



List all ! — The King's vin<lictive pride 


Poor remnants of the Bleeding Heart, 


Boasts to have tamed the border side, 


Ellen and I will seek, apart, 


"Where chiefs, with hound and hawk who 


The refuge of some forest cell ; 


came 


There, like the hunted quarry, dwell, 


To share their monarch's sylvan game, 


Till, on the mountain and the moor. 


Themselves in bloody toils were snared, 


The stern pursuit be past and o'er." 


And when the banquet they prepared, 




And wide their loyal portals flung. 


XXX. 


O'er their own gateway struggling hung. 


"No, by mine honour," Roderick said, 


Loud cries their blood from Meggat's 


" So help me, heaven, and my good blade ! 


mead, 


No, never ! Blasted be yon pine, 


From Yarrow braes, and banks of Tweed, 


My father's ancient crest, and mine. 


Where the lone streams of Ettricke glide, 


If from its shade in danger part 


And from the silver Teviot's side ; 


The lineage of the Bleeding Heart ! 


The dales, where martial clans did ride. 


Hear my blunt speech : grant me this 


Are now one sheepwalk waste and wide. 


maid 


This tyrant of the Scottish throne, 


To wife, thy counsel to mine aid ; 


So faitliless, and so ruthless known, 


To Douglas, leagued with Roderick Dhu, 


Now hither comes ; his end the same, 


WiU friends and allies flock anew. 


The same pretext of sylvan game. 


Like cause of doubt, distrust, and grief. 


What grace for Highland cliiefs judge ye, 


Will bind to us each western chief. 


By fate of Bonier chivalry. 


Wlien the loud pipes my liridal tell, 


Yet more ; amid Glenlinlas green. 


The Links of Forth shall hear the knoll. 


Douglas, thy stately form was seen. 


The guards shall start in Stirling's porch ; 


This liy espial sure I know : 


And, when I light the nuptial torch. 


Your counsel in the strait I show." 


A thousand villages in flames. 




Shall scare the slumbers of King James ! 


XXTX. 


— Nay, Ellen, blench not thus away. 


EUen and Margaret fearfully 
Sought comfort in each other's eye. 
Then turn'd their ghastly look, each one. 
This to her sire, that to her son. 
The hasty colour went and came 


And, mother, cease these signs, I pray; 
I meant not all my heat might say. 
Small need of inroad, or of fight. 
When the sage Douglas may unite 
Each mountain clan in friendly band. 


In the bold cheek of Malcolm tlrseme ; 
But from his glance it well appear'd, 
'Twas but for Ellen that he fciar'd ; 


To guard the passes of the land. 

Till the foil'd King from pathless glen, 

Shall bootless turn him home again." 


While sorrowful, but undismay'd. 




The Douglas thus his counsel said : 


XXXI. 


" Brave Roderick, though the tempest roar, 


There are who have, at midnight hour. 


It may but thmider and pass o'er ; 


In slumber scaled a dizzy tower; 


Nor will I here remain an hour, 


And, on the verge that beetled o'er 


To draw the lightning on thy liower ; 


The ocean-tide's incessant roar. 


For well thou know'st, at this gray head 


Dream'd calmly out their dangerous dream, 


The royal bolt were fiercest sped. 


Till waken'd by the morning beam; 


For thee, who, at thy King's command. 


"Wlien, dazzled by the eastern glow, 


Canst aid him with a gallant band. 


Such startler cast his glance below, 


Submission, homage, humbled pride, 


And saw unmeasured depth around. 


Shall turn the Monarch's wrath aside. 


And heard unintermitted sound. 



THE ISLAND. 



29 



Auil thought the battled fence so frail, 


Stooping his pinions' shadowy sway 


It waved like cobweb in the gale; — 


Upon the nighted pilgi-im's way : 


Amid his senses' giddy wheel, 


But, unrequited Love ! thy dart 


Did he not desperate impulse feel. 


Plungcil deepest its envenom'd smart, 


Headlong to plunge himself below, 


And Roderick, with tliine anguish stung. 


And meet the worst his fears foreshow? — 


At length the hand of Douglas wrung. 


Thus, Ellen, dizzy and astound, 


Wliile eyes, that mock'd at tears before, 


As sudden ruin ya-wn'd around, 


With bitter drops were running o'er. 


By crossing terrors wildly toss'd. 


The death-pangs of long-cherish'd hope 


StiU for the Douglas fearing most, 


Scarce in that ample breast had scope. 


Could scarce the desperate thought withstand. 


But, struggling with liis spirit proud. 


To buy his safety with her hand. 


Convulsive heaved its checker'd shroud, 




While every sola — so mute were all — 


XXXII. 


Was heard distinctly through the halL 


Such purpose dread could Malcolm spy 


The son's despair, the mother's look, 


In Ellen's quivering lip and eye. 


111 might the gentle Ellen brook ; 


And eager rose to speak — but ere 


She rose, and to her side there came. 


His tongue could hurry forth his fear, 


To aid her parting steps, the Graeme. 


Had Douglas mark'd the hectic strife. 




Wliere death seem'd combating with life ; 


XXXIV. 


For to her cheek, in feverish flood. 


Then Roderick from the Douglas broke— 


One instant rush'd the throbbing blood. 


As flashes flame through sable smoke, 


Then ebbing back, with sudden sway. 


Kindling its wreaths, long, dark, and 


Left its domain as wan as clay. 


low. 


" Roderick, enough ! enough ! " he cried. 


To one broad blaze of ruddy glow. 


"My daughter cannot be thy bride; 


So the deep anguish of despair 


Not that the blush to wooer dear, 


Burst, in fierce jealousy, to air. 


Nor paleness that of maiden fear. 


With stalwart grasp his hand he laid 


It may not be — forgive her. Chief, 


On Malcolm's breast and belted plaid : 


Nor hazard aught for our relief. 


" Back, beardless boy ! " he sternly said, 


Against his sovereign Douglas ne'er 


" Back, minion ! hold'st thou thus at naught 


Will level a rebellious spear. 


The lesson I so lately taught? 


'Twas I that taught his youthful hand 


This roof, the Douglas, and that maid. 


To rein a steed and wield a brand ; 


Thank thou for punishment delay'd." 


I see him yet the princely boy 1 


Eager as greyhound on his game. 


Not Ellen more my pride and joy. 


Fiercely with Roderick grappled Graeme. 


I love him still, despite my wrongs. 


" Perish my name, if aught aflbrd 


By hasty wrath, and slanderous tongues. 


Its chieftain safety save his sword ! " 


seek the grace you well may find. 


Thus as they strove, their desperate hand 


Without a cause to mine combined." 


Griped to the dagger or the brand. 




And death had been — but Douglas rose, 


XXXIII. 


And thrust between the struggling foes 



Twice through the hall the Chieftain strode ; 

The waving of his tartans broad, 

And darken'd brow, where wounded pride 

With ire and disappointment vied, 

Seem'd, by the torch's gloomy light. 

Like the ill Demon of the night, 



Hi s giant strength : — " Chieftains, forego ! 
I hold the first who strikes, my foe. 
Madmen, forbear your frantic jar ! 
"What ! is the Douglas fall'n so far. 
His daughter's hand is deem'd the spoil 
Of such dishonourable broU ! " 



30 



THE LADY OP THE LAKE. 



Sullen and slowly, they unclasp, 

As struck with shame, their desperate grasp, 

And each u])on his rival glared, 

"With foot advanced, and blade half bared. 

XXXV. 

Ere yet the brands aloft were flung, 
Margaret on Eoderick's mantle hung, 
And Malcolm heard his Ellen's scream, 
As falter'd through terrific dream. 
Then Eoderick plunged in sheath his sword, 
And veU'd his wrath in scornful word. 
" Rest safe till morning ; pity 'twere 
Such cheek should feel the midnight air ! 
Then mayst thou to James Stuart tell, 
Roderick will keep the lake and fell. 
Nor lackey, with his free-born clan, 
The pageant pomp of earthly man. 
More would he of ClanAlpine know, 
Thou canst our strength and passes show.— 
Malise, what ho ! " — his henchman came ; 
"Give our safe conduct to the Graeme." 
Young Malcolm answer'd, calm and bold, 
" Fear nothing for thy favourite hold ; 
The spot, an angel deign'd to grace, 
Is bloss'd, though robbers haunt the place ; 
Thy churlish courtesy for those 
Reserve, who fear to be thy foes. 
As safe to me the mountain way 
At midnight as in blaze of day. 
Though vdth his boldest at his back. 
Even Roderick Dhu beset the track. — 
Brave Douglas, — lovely Ellen, — nay, 
Nought here of parting will I say. 
Earth does not hold a lonesome glen 
So secret but we meet again. — 
Chieftain ! we too shall find an hour," — 
He said, and left the sylvan bower. 

XXXVI. 

Old Allan follow'd to the strand, 
(Such was the Douglas's command,) 
And anxious told, how, on the morn, 
The stern Sir Roderick deep had sworn. 



The Fiery Cross should circle o'er 
Dale, glen, and valley, down and moor. 
Much were the peril to the Graeme, 
From those who to the signal came ; 
Far up the lake 'twere safest land, 
Himself woidd row him to the strand. 
He gave his counsel to the wind, 
T\niile Malcolm did, unheeding, bind, 
Round dirk and pouch and broadsword roll'd. 
His ample plaid in tighten'd fold, 
And stripp'd his limbs to such array, 
As best might suit the watery way. 



Then spoke abrupt : " Farewell to thee. 
Pattern of old fidelity!" 
The Minstrel's hand he kindly press'd, — 
" ! could I point a place of rest ! 
My sovereign holds in ward my land, 
My uncle leads my vassal band; 
To tame liis foes, his friends to aid. 
Poor Malcolm has but heart and blade. 
Yet, if there be one faithful Graeme, 
Who loves the Chieftain of his name, 
Not long should honour'd Douglas dwell, 
Like hunted stag in mountain cell ; 
Nor, ere you pride-swoUen robber dare, 
I may not give the rest to ah ! 
Tell Roderick Dhu, I owed him nought, 
Not the poor service of a boat. 
To waft me to yon mountain side." — 
Then plunged he in the flashing tide. 
Bold o'er the flood his head he bore. 
And stoutly steer'd him from the shore; 
And Allan strain'd his anxious eye. 
Far mid the lake his form to spy. 
Darkening across each puny wave. 
To wliich the moon her silver gave, 
Fast as the cormorant could skim, 
The swimmer plied each active limb; 
Then landing in the moonlight doll. 
Loud shouted of his weal to tell. 
The Minstrel heard the far halloo. 
And joyful from the shore witlidrew. 



m3^ 



C Ali^TO THIRD, 



THE GATHERING. 



Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore 

WTio danced our infancy upon their knee, 
And told our marveUiug boyhood legends store, 

Of their strange ventures happ'd by land or 
sea, 
How are they blotted from the things that be ! 

How few, all weak and wither'd of their force. 
Wait, on the verge of dark eternity, 

Like stranded wrecks, the' tide returning hoarse, 
To sweep them from our sight ! Time rolls his 

ceaseless course, 
Yet live there still who can remember well, 

How, when a mountain chief his bugle blew, 
Both field and forest, dingle, cHil", and dell. 

And solitary heath, the signal knew ; 
And fast the faithful clan around him drew, 

What time the warning note was keenly wound, 
What time aloft their kindred banner flew. 

While clamorous war-pipes yell'd the gathering 
sound. 
And while the Fiery Cross glanced, like a meteor, 
round. 



The summer dawn's reflected hue 

To purple changed Loch-Katrine blue : 

Mildly and soft the western breeze 

Just kiss'd the lake, just stirr'd the trees. 

And the pleased lake, like maiden coy. 

Trembled but dimpled not for joy ; 

The mountain shadows on her breast 

Were neither broken nor at rest ; 

In bright uncertainty they lie, 

Like future joys to Fancy's eye. 



The water-lily to the light 

Her chalice rear'd of silver bright ; 

The doe awoke, and to the lawn, 

Begemm'd with dew-drops, led her fawn ; 

The gray mist left the mountain side. 

The torrent .show'd its glistening pride : 

Livisible in flecked sky. 

The lark sent down her revelry ; 

The black-bird and the speckled thrush 

Good-morrow gave from brake and bush; 

In answer coo'd the cushat dove, 

Her notes of peace, and rest, and love. 



m. 

No thought of peace, no thought of rest, 

Assuaged the storm in Roderick's breast. 

With sheathed broadsword in his hand. 

Abrupt he paced the islet strand. 

And eyed the rising sun, and laid 

His hand on his impatient blade. 

Beneath a rock, his vassals' care 

Was prompt the ritual to prepare. 

With deep and deathful meaning fraught; 

For such Antiquity had taught 

Was preface meet, ere yet abroad 

The Cross of Fire should take its road. 

The shrinking band stood oft aghast 

At the impatient glance he cast : — 

Such glance the mountain eagle threw 

As, from the cliffs of Ben-venue, 

She spread her dark sails on the wind, 

And, high in middle heaven reclined. 

With her broad shadow on the lake, 

Silenced the warblers of the brake. 



32 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



IV. 

A heap of wither'd boughs was piled, 

Of juniper and rowan wild, 

Mingled with shivers from the oak. 

Rent by the lightning's recent stroke. 

Brian, the Hermit, by it stood. 

Barefooted, in his frock and hood. 

His grizzled beard and matted hair 

Obscured a visage of despair ; 

His naked arms and legs seam'd o'er, 

The scars of frantic penance bore. 

That Monk, of savage form and face, 

The impending danger of his race. 

Had drawn from deepest solitude. 

Far in Benharrow's bosom rude. 

Not his the mien of Christian priest. 

But Druid's, from the grave released. 

Whose harden'd heart and eye might brook 

On human sacriiice to look ; 

And much, 'twas said, of heathen lore 

Mix'd in the charms he mutter'd o'er. 

The hallow'd creed gave only worse 

And deadlier empliasis of curse ; 

No peasant sought that lierniit's prayer, 

His cave the pilgrim shunn'd with care. 

The eager huntsman knew his bound, 

And in mid- chase call'd off his hound ; 

Or if, in lonely glen or strath. 

The desert dweUer met his path. 

He pray'd, and sign'd the cross between. 

While terror took devotion's mien. 



Of Brian's birth strange tales were told, 
His mother watch'd a midnight fold, 
Built deep within a dreary glen. 
Where scatter'd lay the bones of men, 
In some forgotten battle slain. 
And bleach'd by drifting wiml and rain. 
It might have tamed a warrior's heart. 
To view such mockery of his art ! 
The knot-grass fetter'd there the hand. 
Which once could burst an iron band ; 
Beneath the broad and ample bone, 
That buckler'd heart to fear unknown, 
A feeble and a timorous guest, 
The fieldfare framed her lowly nest ; 



There the slow blind-worm left his slime 
On the fleet limbs that mock'd at time ; 
And there, too, lay the leader's skuU, 
Still wreathed with chaplet flush'd and 

fidl, 
For heath-bell, with her purple bloom, 
Supplied the bonnet and the plume. 
All night, in this sad glen, the maid 
Sate, shrouded in her mantle's shade : 
— She said, no shepherd sought her side, 
No hunter's hand her snood untied, 
Yet ne'er again to braid her hair 
The virgin snood did Alice wear; 
Gone was her maiden glee and sport. 
Her maiden girdle all too short. 
Nor sought she, from that fatal night, 
Or holy church or blessed rite. 
But lock'd her secret in her breast, 
And died in travail unconfess'd. 



VI. 

Alone, among his young compeers, 

Was Brian, from his infant years ; 

A moody and heart-broken boy. 

Estranged from sympathy and joy. 

Bearing each taunt which careless tongue 

On his mysterious lineage flung. 

Whole nights he spent by moonlight pale, 

To wood and stream his hap to wail, 

TiU, frantic, he as truth received 

WTiat of his birth the crowd believed, 

And sought, in mist and meteor fire. 

To meet and know his Phantom Sire ! 

In vain, to soothe his wayward fate. 

The cloister oped her pitying gate ; 

In vain, the learning of the age 

Unclasp'd the sable-letter'd page ; 

Even in its treasures he could find 

Food for the fever of his mind. 

Eager he read whatever tells 

Of magic, cabala, and spells, 

And every dark pursuit allied 

To curious and presumptuous pride ; 

TiU, with fired brain and nerves o'erstrung, 

And heart with mystic horrors wrung, 

Desperate he sought Benharrow's den. 

And hid him from the haunts of men. 



THE GATHERING. 



33 



The desert gave him visions wild, 

Such as might suit the Spectre's child. 

Where with black cliffs the torrents toil, 

He watch'd the wheeling eddies boil. 

Till, from their foiini, his dazzled eyes 

Beheld the river demon rise ; 

The mountain mist took form and limb, 

Of noontide hag, or goblin grim ; 

The midnight wind came wild and dread, 

Swell'd with the voices of the dead ; 

Far on the future battle-heath 

His eye beheld the ranks of death : 

Thus the lone Seer, from mankind hurl'd, 

Shaped forth a disembodied world. 

One lingering sympathy of mind 

Still bound him to the mortal kind; 

The only parent he could claim 

Of ancient Alpine's lineage came. 

Late had he heard, in prophet's dream, 

The fatal Ben-Shie's boding scream ; 

Sounds, too, had conie in midnight blast, 

Of charging steeds, careering fast 

Along Benharrow's shingly side, 

Where mortal horsemen ne'er might ride ; 

The thunderbolt had split the pine, — 

All augur'd ill to Alpine's line. 

He girt his loins, and came to show 

The signals of impending wo. 

And now stood prompt to bless or ban. 

As bade the chieftain of his clan. 



'Twas all prepared ; — and from the rock, 
A goat, the patriarch of the flock, 
Before the kindling pile was laid, 
And pierced by Eoderick's ready blade. 
Patient the sickening victim eyed 
The life-blood ebb in crimson tide 
Down his clogg'd beard and shaggy 

limb, 
Till darkness glazed his eyeballs dim. 
The grisly priest, with murmuring prayer, 
A slender crosslet form'd with care, 
A cubit's length in measure due ; 
The shaft and limbs were rods of yew, 
Whose parents in Inch-Cailliach wave 
Their shadows o'er Clan-Alpine's grave, 



And, answering Lomond's breezes deep, 
Soothe many a chieftain's endless sleep. 
The Cross, thus form'd, he held on high, 
With wasted hand and haggard eye. 
And strange and mingled feelings woke, 
While his anathema he spoke. 

IX. 

" Wo to the clansmen who shall view 
This symbol of sepulchral yew, 
Forgetful that its branches grew 
Wiere weep the heavens tlicir hoUest dew 

On Alpine's dwelling low ! 
Deserter of his Chieftain's trust. 
He ne'er shall mingle with their dust. 
But, from his sires and kindred tlirust, 
Each clansman's execration just 

Shall doom him wrath and wo." 
He paused; — the word the vassals took, 
With forward step and fiery look. 
On high their naked brands they shook, 
Their clattering targets wildly strook ; 

And first in murmur low, 
Then, like the billow in his course, 
That far to seaward finds his source. 
And flings to shore his muster'd force. 
Burst, with loud roar, their answer hoarse, 

"Wo to the traitor, wo!" 
Ben-an's gray scalp the accents knew. 
The joyous wolf from covert drew. 
The exulting eagle scream'd afar, — 
They knew tlie voice of Alpine's war. 

X. 

The shout was hush'd on lake and fell. 
The Monk rosum'd his mutter'd spell. 
Dismal and low its accents came. 
The while he scathed the Cross with flame ; 
And the few words that reach'd the air, 
Although the holiest name was there, 
Had more of blasphemy than prayer. 
But when he shook above the crowd 
Its kindled points, he spoke aloud : 
" Wo to the wretch, who fails to rear 
At this dread sign the ready spear ! 
For, as the flames this symbol sear. 
His home, the refuge of his fear, 
A kindred fate shall know; 



34 



THE LADY OP THE LAKE. 



Far o'er its roof the volumed flame 
Clau-^Vlpine's vengeance shall proclaim, 
While maids and matrons on his name 
Shall call down wretchedness and shame, 

And infamy and wo." 
Then rose the cry of females, shrill 
As goss-hawk's whistle on the hill, 
Denouncing misery and ill, 
Mingled with childhood's babbling trill 

Of curses stammer'd slo\v ; 
Answering with imprecation dread, 
" Smik be his home in embers red ! 
And cursed be the meanest shed 
That e'er shall hide the houseless head 

"We doom to want and wo ! " 
A sharp and shrieking echo gave, 
Coir-Uriskin, thy goblin cave ! 
And the gray pass where birches wave. 

On Beala-nam-bo. 



Then deeper paused the priest anew. 
And hard his labouring breath he drew, 
While, with set teeth and clenched hand. 
And eyes that glow'd like fiery brand. 
He meditated curse more dread, 
And deadlier, on the clansman's head. 
Who, summon'd to his Chieftain's aid. 
The signal saw and disobey'd. 
The crosslet's point of sparkling wood, 
He quenched among the bubbling blood, 
And, as again the sign he rear'd, 
Hollow and hoarse his voice was heard : 
" When flits this Cross from man to 

man, 
Vich-Alpine's summons to his clan. 
Burst bo the ear that fails to heed ! 
Palsied the foot that shuns to speed ! 
May ravens tear the careless eyes. 
Wolves make the coward heart their prize ! 
As sinks that blood-stream in the earth. 
So may his heart's-blood drench his hearth ! 
As dies in hissing gore the spark. 
Quench thou his light, Destruction dark ! 
And be the grace to him denied. 
Bought by this sign to all beside ! " 
Ho ceased : no echo gave again 



The murmur of the deep Amen. 



Then Eoderick, with impatient look, 
From Brian's hand the symbol took : 
" Speed, Malise, speed ! " he said, and 

gave 
The crosslet to his henchman brave. 
"The muster-place be Lanric mead — 
Instant the time — speed, Malise, speed ! " 
Like heath-bird, when the hawks pursue, 
A barge across Loch-Katrine flew ; 
High stood the henchman on the prow. 
So rapidly the bargemen row. 
The bubbles, where they launch'd the boat, 
Were all unbroken and afloat. 
Dancing in foam and ripple stUl, 
When it had near'd the mainland hill ; 
And from the silver beach's side 
StiU was the prow three fathoms wide, 
Wlien lightly bounded to the land 
The messenger of blood and brand. 



Speed, Malise, speed ! the dun deer's hide 
On fleeter foot was never tied. 
Speed, Malise, speed ! such cause of haste 
Thine active sinews never braced. 
Bend 'gainst tlie steepy hill thy breast. 
Burst do^vn hke torrent from its crest; 
With short and springing footstep pass 
The trembling bog and false morass : 
Across the brook like roebuck bound. 
And thread the brake like questing hound; 
The crag is high, the scaur is deep. 
Yet shrink not from the desperate leap. 
Parch'd are thy burning lips and brow. 
Yet by the fountain pause not now. 
Herald of battle, fate, and fear. 
Stretch onward in thy fleet career ! 
The wounded hind thou track'st not now, 
Pursuest not maid through greenwood bough, 
Nor pliest tliou now thy flying pace 
With rivals in the mountain race ; 
But danger, death, and warrior deed. 
Are in thy course — ^Speed, Malise, speed ! 



Fast as the fatal symbol flies, 

In arms the huts and hamlets rise ; 



THE GATHERING. 



35 



From wincling gleu, from upland brown, 

They poiu''J uaoli liardy tenant down. 

Nor slack'd the messenger his pace : 

He sliow'd tlie sign, he named tlie place. 

And, pressing forward like the wind, 

Left clamour and surprise behind. 

The fisherman forsook the strand, 

Tlie swarthy smith took dirk and brand. 

With changed cheer the mower blithe 

Left in the half-cut swath his scythe. 

The herds without a keeper stray'd, 

The plough was in mid-furrow stay'd, 

The falc'ner toss'd his hawk away, 

Tlie lumter left the stag at bay ; 

Prompt at the signal of alarms. 

Each .son of Alpine rush'd to arms ; 

So swept the tumult and aflfray 

Along the margin of Achray. 

Alas, thou lovely lake, that e'er 

Thy banks should echo sounds of fear ! 

The rocks, the bosky thickets, .sleep 

So stilly on thy bosom deep. 

The lark's blithe carol, from the cloud. 

Seems for the scene too gaUy loud. 



Speed, Malise, speed ! the lake is past, 

Duncraggan's huts appear at last, 

And peep, like moss-grown rocks, half seen. 

Half hidden in the copse so green ; 

There mayst thou rest, thy labour done. 

Their Lord shall speed the signal on. — 

As stoops the hawk upon his prey, 

The henchman shot him down the way. 

— What woful accents load the gale ! 

The funeral yell, the female wail ! 

A gallant hunter's sport is o'er, 

A valiant warrior fights no more. 

Who, in the battle or the chase. 

At Roderick's side shall fill his place ! — 



Within the hall, where torches' ray 
Supplies the excluded beams of day. 
Lies Duncan on his lowly bier. 
And o'er him streams his widow's tear. 
His stripling son stands mournful by, 
His youngest weeps, but knows not why ; 
The village maids and matrons round 
The dismal coronach* resound. 

rvi. 

CORONAOH. 

He is gone on the mountain, 

He is lost to the forest, 
Like a summer-dried fountain, 

Wlaen our need was the sorest. 
The font, re-appearing. 

From the rain drops shall borrow. 
But to us comes no cheering. 

To Duncan no morrow ! 

The hand of the reaper 

Takes the ears that are hoary, 
But the voice of the weeper 

WaUs manhood in glory ; 
The autumn winds rushing 

Waft the leaves that are searest, 
But our flower was in flushing 

Wlien blighting was nearest. 
Fleet foot on the correi,t 

Sage counsel in cumber. 
Red hand in the foray, 

How sound is thy slumber ! 
Like the dew on the mountain. 

Like the foam on the river. 
Like the bubble on the fountain, 

Thou art gone, and for ever ! 

* Funeral song. See note. 

t Or corri. The hollow side of the hill, where game usuaUy lies. 



36 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



CORONACH. 



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THE GATHERING. 



37 



XVII. 

See Stumah,* who, the bier beside, 

His master's corpse with wonder eyed, — 

Poor Stumah ! whom his least halloo 

Coidd send like lightning o'er the dew. 

Bristles his crest, and points his ears. 

As if some stranger step he hears. 

'Tis not a mourner's muffled tread, 

Who comes to sorrow o'er the dead, 

But headlong haste, or deadly fear, 

Urge the precipitate career. 

All stand aghast : — unheeding all. 

The henchman bursts into the hall ; 

Before the dead man's bier he stood, 

Held forth the Cross, besmear'd with blood ; 

" The muster-place is Lanric mead ; 

Speed forth the signal ! clansmen, speed ! " 



Angus, the heir of Duncan's line. 
Sprung forth and seized the fatal sign. 
In haste the stripling to his side 
His father's dirk and broadsword tied; 
But when he saw his mother's eye 
Watch him in speechless agony. 
Back to her open'd arms he flew, 
Press'd on her lips a fond adieu — 
"Alas," she sobb'd, — "and yet be gone. 
And speed thee forth like Duncan's son ! " 
One look he cast upon the bier, 
Dash'd from his eye the gathering tear, 
Breathed deep, to cleat his labouring breast, 
And toss'd aloft his bonnet crest, 
Then, like the high-bred colt, when freed, 
First he essays his fire and speed. 
He vanish'd, and o'er moor and moss. 
Sped forward with the Fiery Cross. 
Suspended was the widow's tear. 
While yet his footsteps she could hear ; 
And when she mark'd the henchman's eye 
Wet with unwonted sympathy, 
" Kinsman," she said, " his race is run 
That should have sped thine errand on ; 
The oak has fallen, — the sapling bough 
Is all Duncraggan's shelter now 

* Faitk/ul. The name of a dog. 



Yet trust I well, his duty done, 

The orphan's God will guard my son — 

And you, in many a danger true, 

At Duncan's best your blades that drew, 

To arms, and guard that orphan's head ! 

Let babes and women wail the dead." 

Then weapon-clang, and martial call, 

Kesounded through the funeral hall, 

While from the walls the attendant band 

Snatch'd sword and targe with hurried hand ; 

And short and flitting energy 

Glanced from the mourner's sunken eye, 

As if the sounds to warrior dear 

Might rouse her Duncan from his bier. 

But faded soon that borrow'd force ; 

Grief claim'd his right, and tears their course. 

XIX. 

Benledi saw the Cross of Fire, 
It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire. 
O'er dale and hiU the summons flew, 
Nor rest nor pause young Angus knew ; 
The tear that gather'd in his eye, 
He left the mountain-breeze to dry ; 
UntU, where Teith's young waters roU, 
Betwixt him and a wooded knoU, 
That graced the sable strath with green, 
The chapel of Saint Bride was seen. 
Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge, 
But Angus paused not on the edge ; 
Though the dark waves danced dizzily, 
Though reel'd his sympathetic eye, 
He dash'd amid the torrent's roar ; 
His right hand high the crosslet bore, 
His left the pole-axe grasp'd, to guide 
And stay his footing in the tide. 
He stumbled twice — the foam splash'd high. 
With hoarser swell the stream raced by ; 
And had he fallen, — for ever there, 
Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir ! 
But still, as if in parting life, 
Firmer he grasp'd the Cross of strife, 
Until the opposing bank he gain'd. 
And up the chapel pathway strain'd. 



A blithesome rout, that morning tide. 
Had sought the chapel of Saint Bride. 



38 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



Her troth Tombea's Mary gave 
To Norman, heir of Armandave, 
And, issuing from the Gothic arch, 
The bridal now resumed their march. 
In rude, but glad procession, came 
Bonneted sire and coif-clad dame ; 
And plaided youth, with jest and jeer, 
Wliich snooded maiden would not hear; 
And children that, unwitting why. 
Lent the gay shout their shrilly cry; 
And minstrels, that in measures vied 
Before the young and bonny bride, 
Wliose downcast eye and cheek disclose 
The tear and blush of morning rose. 
With virgin step, and bashful hand. 
She held the kerchief's snowy band; 
The gallant bridegroom, by her side, 
Beheld his prize with victor's pride. 
And the glad mother in her oar 
Was closely whispermg word of cheer. 

XXI. 

Who meets them at the churchyard gate?— 

The messenger of fear and fate ! 

Haste in his hurried accent lies, 

And grief is swimming in his eyes. 

All dripping from the recent flood, 

Panting and travel-soil'd he stood, 

The fatal sign of fire and sword 

Held forth, and spoke the appointed word : 

"The muster-place is Lanric mead. 

Speed forth the signal ! Norman, speed ! " 

And must he change so soon the hand. 

Just linked to his by holy band. 

For the fell Cross of blood and brand? 

And must the day, so blithe that rose. 

And promised rapture in the close. 

Before its setting hour, divide 

The bridegroom from the plighted bride? 

O fatal doom ! it must ! it must ! 

Clan-Alpine's cause, her Chieftain's trust. 

Her summons dread, brook no delay; 

Stretch to the race — away ! away ! 



Yet slow he laid his plaid aside. 
And, lingering, eyed his lovely bride, 
UntQ he saw the starting tear 
Speak wo he might not stop to cheer; 



Then, trusting not a second look. 
In haste he sped him up tlie brook. 
Nor backward glanced till on the heath 
Where Lubnaig's lake supplies the Teith. 
— What in the racer's bosom stirr'd? 
The sickening pang of hope deferr'd. 
And memory, with a torturing train 
Of all his morning's visions vain. 
Mingled with love's impatience, came 
The manly thirst for martial fame ; 
The stormy joy of mountaineers. 
Ere yet they rush upon the spears ; 
And zeal for clan and chieftain burning, 
And hope, from well-fought field returning 
With war's red honours on his crest, 
To clasp his Mary to his breast. 
Stung by such thoughts, o'er bank and brae, 
Like fire from flint he glanced away, 
Wliile high resolve, and feeling strong. 
Burst into voluntary song. 

XXIII. 
SONG. 

The heath this night must be my bed. 
The bracken* curtain for my head, 
My luUaby, the warder's tread. 

Far, far from love and thee, Mary; 
To-morrow eve, more stilly laid. 
My couch may be my bloody plaid, 
My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid! 

It will not waken me, Mary ! 
I may not, dare not, fancy now 
The grief that clouds thy lovely brow, 
I dare not think upon thy vow. 

And all it promised me, Mary. 
No fond regret must Norman know; 
When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe. 
His heart must be like bended bow, 

His foot like arrow free, Mary. 
A time will come with feeling fraught ! 
For, if I fall in battle fought. 
Thy hapless lover's dying thought 

Shall be a thought on thee, Mary. 
And if return'd from conquer'd foes, 
How blithely will the evening close, 
How sweet the linnet sing repose, 

To my young bride and me, Mary! 



• Bracken. Feni. 



THE GATHERING. 



39 



THE HEATH THIS NIGHT MUST BE MY BED. 

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THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



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wail, sweet maid ! It will not wak-en me, Ma-ry ! 







Not faster o'er thy heathery braes, 

Balquidder, speeds the midnight blaze. 

Ensiling, in conflagration strong, 

Thy deep ravines and dells along. 

Wrapping thy cliffs in purple glo^¥, 

And reddening the dark lakes below ; 

Nor faster speeds it, nor so far. 

As o'er thy heaths the voice of war. 

The signal roused to martial coil 

The sidlen margin of Looh-Voil, 

Waked still Loch-Doine, and to the source 

Alarm'd, Balvaig, thy swampy course ; 

Thence southward turn'd its rapid road 

Adowii Strath-Gartney's valley broad. 

Till rose in arms each man might claim 

A portion in Clan-Alpine^s name ; 

From the gray sire, whose trembling hand 

Could hardly buckle on his brand. 

To the raw boy, whose shaft and bow 

Were yet scarce terror to the crow. 

Each valley, each seqiiester'd glen, 

Muster'd its little horde of men, 

That met as torrents from the height 

In Higliland dale their streams unite, 

Still gathering, as they pour along, 

A voice more loud, a tide more strong, 

TUl at the rendezvous they stood 

By hundreds, prompt for blows and blood ; 

Each train'd to arms since life began, 

Owning no tie but to his clan. 

No oath, but by his Chieftain's hand, 

No law, but Koderick Dhu's command. 



XXV. 

That summer morn had Roderick Dhu 
Survey'd the skirts of Ben-venue, 
And sent his scouts o'er hill and heath 
To view the frontiers of Menteith. 
All backward came with news of truce. 
Still lay each martial Graeme and Bruce, 
In Rednock courts no horsemen wait, 
No banner waved on Cardross gate. 
On Duchray's towers no beacon shone, 
Nor scared the herons from Loch-Con; 
AH seem'd at peace. — Now, wot ye why 
The Chieftain, with such anxious eye. 
Ere to the muster he repair. 
This western frontier scann'd with care?— 
In Ben-venue's most darksome cleft, 
A fair, though cruel, pledge was left; 
For Douglas, to his promise true. 
That morning from the isle withdrew, 
And in a deep, sequester'd dell 
Had sought a low and lonely cell. 
By many a bard, in Celtic tongue. 
Has Coir-nan-Uriskin been simg ; 
A softer name the Saxons gave. 
And call'd the grot the Goblin Cave. 

XXVI. 

It was a wild and strange retreat, 
As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet. 
The dell, upon the mountain's crest, 
Yawn'd like a gash on warrior's breast ; 
Its trench had stay'd full many a rock, 
Hurl'd by primeval earthquake shock 



THE GATHERING. 



41 



From Ben- venue's gray summit wild, 
And here, in random ruin piled. 
They frovvn'd incumbent o'er the spot. 
And form'd the rugged sylvan grot. 
The oak and birch, with mingled shade. 
At noontide there a twilight made. 
Unless when short and sudden shone 
Some straggling beam on cliff or stone. 
With such a glimpse as prophet's eye 
Gains on thy depths, Futurity. 
No murmur waked the solemn stiU, 
Save tinkling of a fountain rill ; 
But when the wind chafed with the 

lake, 
A sullen sound would upward break, 
With dashing hollow voice, that spoke 
The incessant war of wave and rock. 
Suspended cliffs with hideous sway, 
Seem'd nodding o'er the cavern gray. 
From such a den the wolf had sprung, 
In such the wild-cat leaves her young. 
Yet Douglas and his daughter fair 
Sought for a space their safety there. 
Gray Superstition's whisper dread 
Debarr'd the spot to vulgar tread; 
For there, she said, did fays resort. 
And satyrs* hold their sylvan court, 
By moonlight tread their mystic maze. 
And blast the rash beholder's gaze. 

XXVII. 

Now eve, with western shadows long, 
Floated on Katrine bright and strong, 
When Roderick, with a chosen few, 
Repass'd the heights of Ben-venue. 
Above the Goblin Cave they go. 
Through the wild pass of Beal-nam-Bo ; 
The prompt retainers speed before, 
To launch the shallop from the shore. 
For 'cross Loch-Katrine lies his way 
To view the passes of Achray, 
And -place his clansmen in array. 
Yet lags the Cliief in musing mind, 
Unwonted sight, his men beliind. 
A single page, to bear his sword, 
Alone attended on his lord; 



• The Drlsk, or Highland satyr. 



The rest their way through thickets break, 

And soon await him by the lake. 

It was a fair and gallant sight, 

To view them from the neighbouring height 

By the low-levell'd sunbeams' light; 

For strength and stature, from the clan. 

Each warrior was a chosen man, 

As even afar might well be seen, 

By their proud step and martial mien. 

Their feathers dance, their tartans float, 

Their targets gleam, as by the boat 

A wild and warlike group they stand, 

That well became such nioimtain-strand. 

XXVIII. 

Their Chief, with step reluctant, still 

Was lingering on the craggy hill. 

Hard by where turn'd apart the road 

To Douglas's obscure abode. 

It was but with that dawning morn 

That Roderick Dhu had proudly sworn. 

To drown his love in war's wild roar. 

Nor think of Ellen Douglas more: 

But he who stems a stream with sand 

And fetters flame with flaxen band, 

Has yet a harder task to prove — 

By firm resolve to conquer love ! 

Eve finds the Chief, like restless ghost, 

StUl hovering near his treasure lost; 

For though his haughty heart deny 

A parting meeting to his eye. 

Still fondly strains his anxious ear, 

The accents of her voice to hear. 

And inly did he curse the breeze 

That waked to sound the rustling trees. 

But hark ! what mingles in the strain 1 

It is the harp of Allan-bane, 

That wakes its measure slow and high, 

Attuned to sacred minstrelsy. 

WTiat melting voice attends the strings? 

'Tis Ellen, or an angel, sings. 

XXIX. 
HYMN TO THE VIRGIN. 

Ave Maria! Maiden mild! 

Listen to a maiden's prayer! 
Thou canst hear though from the wild, 

Thou canst save amid despair. 



42 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



Safe may we sleep beneath thy care, 


Then, Maiden, hear a maiden's prayer ; 


Though banish'd, outcast, and reviled — 


Mother, list a suppliant child ! 


Maiden ! hear a maiden's prayer; 


Ave Maria 1 


Mother, hear a suppliant child ! 

Ave Maria ! 


Ave Maria 1 Stainless styled ! 




Foul demons of the earth and air. 




From this their wonted haunt exiled, 


Ave Maria ! Undefiled ! 


Shall flee before thy presence fair. 


The flinty couch wo now must share 


We bow us to our lot of care, 


Shall seem with down of eider piled, 


Beneath th}' guidance reconciled; 


If thy protection hover there. 


Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer, 


The murky cavern's heavy air 


And for a father hear a child ! 


Shall breathe of balm if thou hast smiled; 


Ave Maria ! 



AVE MARIA. 



Adagio. 




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44 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



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THE GATHERING. 



45 



Died on the harp the closing hymn — 
Unmoved in attitude and limb, 
As list'ning still, Clan-Alpine's lord 
Stood loaning on Jiis lieavy sword, 
Until the page, with Immble sign, 
Twice pointed to the sun's decline. 
Then, while his plaid he round him cast, 
" It is the last time — 'tis the last," 
He mutter'd thrice, — " the last time e'er 
That angel-voice shall Roderick hear ! " 
It was a goading thought — his stride 
Hied hastier down the mountain side ; 
SuUen he flung him in the boat, 
And instant 'cross the lake it shot ; 
They landed in that silvery bay. 
And eastward held their hasty way 
Till, with the latest beams of light, 
The band arrived on Lanric height. 
Where muster'd in the vale below, 
Clan-Alpine's men in martial show. 



XXXI. 

A various scene the clansmen made, 
Some sate, some stood, some slowly stray'd ; 
But most, with mantles folded round. 
Were couch'd to rest upon the ground, 
Scarce to be known, by curious eye. 
From the deep heather whore they lie, 
So well was match'd the tartan screen 
With heath-bell dark and brackens green; 
Unless where, here and there, a blade, 
Or lance's point, a glimmer made. 
Like glow-worm twinkling through the 

shade. 
But when, advancing through the gloom, 
They saw the Chieftain's eagle plume. 
Their shout of welcome, shrill and wide. 
Shook the steep mountain's steady side. 
Thrice it arose, and lake and fell 
Three times return'd the martial yeU. 
It died upon Bochastle's plain. 
And silence claim'd her evening reign. 




CAl^TO FOURTH. 



THE PROPHECY. 



" The rose is fairest wlien 'tis budding new 

And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears; 
The rose is sweetest wash'd with morning dew, 

And love is loveliest when embalm'd in tears. 
wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears, 

I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave, 
Emljlem of hope and love through future years ! " 

Thus spoke young Norman, heir of Armandave, 
What time the sun arose on Vennachar's broad 
wave. 

n. 

Such fond conceit, half said, half sung, 

Love prompted to the bridegroom's tongue. 

All while he stripp'd the wild-rose spray, 

His axe and bow beside him lay. 

For, on a pass 'twixt lake and wood, 

A wakeful sentinel he stood. 

Hark ! on the rock a footstep rung, 

And instant to his arms he sprung. 

"Stand, or thou diest ! — What, Malise? — soon 

Art thou return'd from Braes of Doune. 

By thy keen step and glance I know 

Thou bring'st us tidings of the foe." 

(For while the Fiery Cross hied on. 

On distant scout had Malise gone.) 

" AVliere sleeps the Chief?" the henchman said. 

" Apart, in yonder misty glade ; 

To his lone couch I'll be your guide." 

Then call'd a slumberer by his side. 

And stirr'd him with his slacken'd bow — 

"Up, up, Glentarkin ! rouse thee, ho! 

We seek the Chieftain ; on the track 

Keep eagle watch till I come back." 



in. 

Together up the pass they sped : 
"What of the foeman?" Norman said. 
" Varying reports from near and far ; 
This certain, — that a band of war 
Has for two days been ready boune. 
At prompt command, to march from Doune ; 
King James, the while, with princely 

powers. 
Holds revelry in Stirling towers. 
Soon will this dark and gathering cloud 
Speak on our glens in thunder loud. 
Inured to bide siich bitter bout, 
The warrior's plaid may bear it out ; 
But, Norman, how wilt thou provide 
A shelter for thy bonny bride 1 " 
" What ! know ye not that Eoderick's care 
To the lone isle hath caused repair 
Each maid and matron of the clan, 
And every child and aged man 
Unfit for arms? and given his charge, 
Nor skiff nor shallop, boat nor barge. 
Upon these lakes shall float at large. 
But all beside the islet moor, 
That such dear pledge may rest secure 1 " 

IV. 

" 'Tis well advised — the Chieftain's plan 

Bespeaks the father of his clan. 

But wherefore sleeps Sir Roderick Dhu 

Apart from all his followers true?" 

" It is, because last evening-tide 

Brian an augury hath tried. 

Of that dread kind which must not be 

Unless in di'ead extremity, 



THE PROPHECY. 



47 



The Tagliairm call'J ; by which, afar, 
Our sires foresaw the events of war. 
Duncraggan's milk-white bull they slew." 

MALISE. 

" Ah ! well the gaUaut brute I knew ! 
The choicest of the prey we had, 
A^Tien swept our merry-men' GaUangad. 
His hide was snow, his horns were dark, 
His red eye glow'd like fiery spark ; 
So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet, 
Sore did he cmnber our retreat. 
And kept our stoutest kernes in awe. 
Even at the pass of Beal'maha. 
But steep and flinty was the road. 
And sharp the hunying pikeman's goad. 
And when we came to Dennan's Row, 
A child might scatheless stroke his brow." 

V. 

NORMAN. 

" That bull was slain : his reeking hide 
They stretch'd the cataract beside. 
Whose waters their wild tumult toss 
Adown the black and craggy boss 
Of that huge cliff, whose ample verge 
Tradition calls the hero's Targe. 
Couched on a shelve beneath its brink, 
Close where the thundering torrents sink, 
Rocking beneath their headlong sway,' 
And drizzled by the ceaseless spray. 
Midst groan of rock, and roar of stream, 
The wizard waits prophetic dream. 
Nor distant rests the chief ; — but hush ! 
See, gliding slow through mist and bush. 
The hermit gains yon rock, and stands 
To gaze upon our slumbering bands. 
Seems he not, Malise, hke a ghost, 
That hovers o'er a slaughter'd host? 
Or raven on the blasted oak. 
That, watching while the deer is broke,* 
His morsel claims with sidlen croak ? " 

MALISE. 

" Peace ! peace ! to other than to me 
Thy words were evil augury ; 

* Quartered. 



But still I hold Sir Roderick's blade 

Clan-Alpine's omen and her aid. 

Not aught that, glean'd from heaven or hell, 

Yon fiend-begotten Monk can tell. 

The Chieftain joins him, see — and now. 

Together they descend the brow." 

VI. 

And, as they came, with Alpine's Lord 
The Hermit Monk held solemn word : 
" Roderick ! it is a fearful strife, 
For man endow'd with mortal life. 
Whose shroud of sentient clay can stUl 
Feel feverish pang and fainting chill. 
Whose eye can stare in stony trance, 
Whose hair can rouse like warrior's lance, — 
'Tis hard for such to view, unfurl'd. 
The curtain of the future world. 
Yet, witness every quaking limb, 
My sunken pulse, mine eyeballs dim. 
My soul with harrowing anguish torn. 
This for my Chieftain have I borne ! — 
The shapes that sought my fearful couch, 
A human tongue may ne'er avouch ; 
No mortal man, — save he, who, bred 
Between the living and the dead, 
Is gifted beyond nature's law, — 
Had e'er survived to say he saw. 
At length the fateful answer came. 
In characters of living flame ! 
Not spoke in word, nor blazed in scroll, 
But borne and branded on my soul ; 
Which spills the foremost foeman's life. 
That party conquers in the strife." 



" Thanks, Brian, for thy zeal and care ! 

Good is thine augury, and fair. 

Clan-Alpine ne'er in battle stood. 

But first our broadswords tasted blood. 

A surer victim still I know. 

Self -oifer'd to the auspicious blow : 

A spy has sought my land this morn, — 

No eve shall witness his return ! 

My followers guard each pass's mouth, 

To east, to westward, and to south ; 

Red Murdoch, bribed to be his guide. 

Has charge to lead his steps aside, 



48 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



Till, in deep path or dingle brown, 
He light on those shall bring him down. 
— But see, who comes his news to show ! 
Malise ! what tidings of the foe ? " 



"At Doune, o'er many a spear and glaive. 

Two Barons proud their banners wave. 

I saw the Moray's silver star. 

And mark'd the sable pale of Mar." 

" By Alpine's soul, high tidings those ! 

I love to hear of worthy foes. 

When move they on ? " — " To-morrow's noon 

"Will see them here for battle boune." 

" Then shall it see a meeting stern ! — 

But, for the place — say, couldst thou learn 

Nought of the friendly clans of Earn"! 

Strengtheu'd by them, we well might bide 

The battle on Benledi's side. 

Thou couldst not ? — well ! Clan- Alpine's men 

Shall man the Trosachs' shaggy glen ; 

Within Loch-Katrine's gorge we'll fight 

All in our maids' and matrons' sight, 

Each for his hearth and household fire, 

Father for child, and son for sire, — 

Lover for maid beloved ! — but why — 

Is it the breeze affects mine eye ? 

Or dost thou come, ill-omen'd tear ! 

A messenger of doubt or fear? 

No ! Sooner may the Saxon lance 

Unfix Benledi from his stance. 

Than doubt or terror can pierce through 

The unyielding heart of Eoderick Dhu ! 

'Tis stubborn as his trusty targe. — 

Each to his post ! — all know their charge." 

The pibroch sounds, the bands advance, 

The broads^vords gleam, the banners dance, 

Obedient to the Chieftain's glance. 

— I turn me from the martial roar. 

And seek Coir-Uriskin once more. 



Where is the Douglas ? — he is gone ; 
And Ellen sits on the gray stone 
Fast by the cave, and makes her moan ; 
WhOe vainly Allan's words of cheer 
Are pour'd on her unheeding ear. — 



" He will return — Dear lady, trust ! — 
With joy return ; — he will — he must. 
Well was it time to seek, afar. 
Some refuge from impending war, 
WHien e'en Clan- Alpine's rugged swarm 
Are cow'd by the approaching storm. 
I saw their boats, with many a light, 
Floating the live-long yesternight, 
Shifting like flashes darted forth 
By the red streamers of the north ; 
I mark'd at morn how close they ride. 
Thick moor'd by the lone islet's side, 
Like wild ducks couching in the fen, 
Wlien stoops the hawk upon the glen. 
Since this rude race dare not abide 
The peril on the main-land side. 
Shall not thy noble father's care 
Some safe retreat for thee prepare?" 



ELLEN. 

" No, AUan, no ! Pretext so kind 
My wakeful terrors could not bHnd. 
Wlien in such tender tone, yet grave, 
Douglas a parting blessing gave, 
The tear that glisten'd in his eye 
Drown'd not his purpose, fix'd and high. 
My soul, though feminine and weak, 
Can image his ; e'en as the lake. 
Itself disturb'd by slightest stroke, 
Eeflects the invulnerable rock. 
He hears report of battle rife. 
He deems himself the cause of strife. 
I saw him redden, when the theme 
Turn'd, Allan, on thine idle dream, 
Of Malcolm Graeme in fetters bound, 
Wliicli I, thou saidst, about him wound. 
Think'st tliou he trow'd thine omen aught? 
Oh no ! 'twas apprehensive thought 
For the kind youth, — for Roderick too — 
(Lot me be just) that friend so true ; 
In danger both, and in our cause ! 
Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause. 
Wliy else that solemn warning given, 
' If not on earth, we meet in heaven ? ' 
Wiry else, to Cambus Kenneth's fane, 
If eve return him not again, 



THE PROPHECY. 



49 



Am I to hie, and make mo known 1 
Alas ! he goes to Scotland's throne, 
Buys his friends' safety with liis own, — 
He goes to do — what I had done. 
Had Douglas' daughter been his son ! " 

XI. 

" Nay, lovely Ellen ! — dearest, nay ! 
If aught should his return delay, 
He only named yon holy fane 
As fitting place to meet again. 
Be sure he's safe; and for the Graeme, — 
Heaven's blessing on his gallant name ! — 
My vision'd sight may yet prove true, 
Nor bode of ill to him or you. 
When did my gifted dream beguile? 
Think of the stranger at the isle. 
And think upon the harpings slow. 
That presaged this approaching woe ! 
Sooth was my prophecy of fear ; 
Believe it when it augurs cheer. 
"Would we had left this dismal spot ! 
HI luck stiU haunts a fairy grot. 
Of such a wondrous tale I know — 
Dear lady, change that look of woe ! 
My harp was wont thy grief to cheer." 

ELLEN. 

" Well, be it as thou wilt ; I hear, 
But cannot stop the bursting tear." 

The Minstrel tried his simple art, 
But distant far was Ellen's heart. 

XII. 

BALLAD. ALICE BRAND. 

Merry it is in the good greenwood. 

When the mavis * and merle t are singing, 

When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are 
in cry. 
And the hunter's horn is ringing. 

" O Alice Brand, my native land 
Is lost for love of you ; 
And we must hold by wood and wold. 
As outlaws wont to do. 



* Tlirash. 



t Blackbird. 



" AUoc, 'twas all for thy locks so bright. 
And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue. 
That on the night of our luckless flight. 
Thy brother bold I slew. 

" Now must I teach to hew the beech 

The hand that held the glaive. 

For leave to spread our lowly bed, 

And stakes to fence our cave. 

" And for vest of pall, thy fingers small. 
That wont on harp to stray, 
A cloak must shear from the slaughter'd deer. 
To keep the cold away." 

" 0, Richard ! if my brother died, 
'Twas but a fatal chance ; 
For darkling was the battle tried. 
And fortune sped the lance. 

" If pall and vair no more I wear, 
Nor thou the crimson sheen. 
As warm, we'll say, is the russet gray. 
As gay the forest-green. 

"And, Richard, if our lot be hard. 
And lost thy native land; 
StiU Alice has her own Richard, 
And he his Alice Brand." 

XIII. 
BALLAD CONTINUED. 

'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood. 
So blithe Lady Alice is singing ; 

On the beech's pride, and oak's brown side, 
Lord Richard's axe is ringing. 

Up spoke the moody Elfin King, 

Who Avonn'd within the hill, — 
Like wind in tlie porch of a ruin'd church, 

His voice was ghostly shrill. 

"Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak. 

Our moonlight circle's screen? 
Or who comes here to chase the deer, 

Beloved of our Elfin Queen? 
Or who may dare on wold to wear 

The fau'ie's fatal green? 



50 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



" Up, Urgan, up ! to yon mortal hie, 
For thou wert christen'd man ; 
For cross or sign thou wilt not fly, 
For mutter'd word or ban. 

"Lay on him the curse of the wither'd heart, 
The curse of the sleepless eye ; 
Till he msh and pray that his life would part, 
Nor yet find leave to die." 

XIV. 
BALLAD CONTINUED. 

'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood. 
Though the birds have still'd their singing ; 

The evening blaze doth Alice raise. 
And Richard is fagots bringing. 

Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf, 

Before Lord Richard stands. 
And, as he cross'd and bless'd himself, 
" I fear not sign," quoth the grisly elf, 

"That is made with bloody hands." 

But out then spoke she, Alice Brand, 
That woman void of fear, — 
" And if there's blood upon his hand, 
'Tis but the blood of deer." 

" Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood ! 
It cleaves unto his hand. 
The stain of thine own kindly blood. 
The blood of Etheit Brand." 

Then forward stopp'd she, Alice Brand, 
And made the holy sign, — 
' And if there's blood on Richard's hand, 
A spotless hand is mine. 

" And I conjure thee, demon elf. 
By Him whom demons fear, 
To show us whence thou art thyself, 
And what thine errand here?" 



BALLAD CONTINDED. 

' 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in Fairy-land, 
When fairy birds are singing. 



When the court doth ride by their monarch's 
side. 
With bit and bridle ringing : 

" And gaily shines the Fairy-land — 
But all is glistening show. 
Like the idle gleam that December's beam 
Can dart on ice and snow. 

"And fading, like that varied gleam 
Is our inconstant shape, 
Who now like knight and lady seem, 
And now like dwarf and ape. 

" It was between the night and day. 
When the Fairy King has power. 
That I sunk down in a sinful fray. 
And, 'twixt life and death, was snatch'd away 
To the joyless Elfin bower. 

" But wist I of a woman bold. 

Who thrice my brow durst sign, 
I might regain my mortal mould. 
As fair a form as thine." 

She cross'd him once — she cross'd him twice — 

That lady was so brave ; 
The fouler grew his goblin hue. 

The darker grew the cave. 

She cross'd him thrice, that lady bold; 

He rose beneath her hand 
The fairest knight on Scottish moidd. 

Her brother, Ethert Brand ! 

Merry it is in good greenwood. 

When the mavis and merle are singing, 

But merrier were they in Dimfermline gray. 
When all the bells were ringing. 

XVI. 

Just as the minstrel sounds were stay'd, 
A stranger climb'd the steepy glade : 
His martial step, his stately mien. 
His hunting suit of Lincoln green. 
His eagle glance, remembrance claims — 
'Tis Snowdoun's Knight, 'tis James Fitz- 
James. 



THE PROPHECY. 



51 



Ellen beheld as in a dream, 


Thou, whose light folly bears the blame, 


Then, starting, scarce suppress'd a scregmi — 


Buy thine own pardon with thy shame ! 


" stranger ! in such hour of fear. 


But first, — my father is a man 


WTiat evil hap has brought thee here ! " 


Outlaw'd and exiled, under ban ; 


" An evil hap, how can it be, 


The jwice of blood is on his head, 


That bids me look again on thee? 


With me 'twere infamy to wed. 


By promise bound, my former guide 


Still wouldst thou speak? — then hear the 


Met me betimes this morning tide. 


truth ! 


And marshall'd, over bank and bourne, 


Fitz-James, there is a noble youtli,— 


The happy path of my return." 


If yet he is ! — exposed for me 


" The happy path ! — what ! said he nought 


And mine to dread extremity — 


Of war, of battle to be fought. 


Thou hast the secret of my heart ; 


Of guarded pass T'—" No, by my faith! 


Forgive, be generous, and depart ! " 


Nor saw I aught could augur scathe." 




" Oh haste thee, Allan, to the kern, 


XVIII. 


— Yonder his tartans I discern ; 


Fitz-James knew every wily train 


Learn thou his purpose, and conjure 


A lady's fickle heart to gain. 


That he will guide the stranger sure ! — 


But here he knew and felt them vain. 


What prompted thee, unhappy man ! 


There shot no glance from Ellen's eye, 


The meanest serf in Roderick's clan 


To give her steadfast speech the lie; 


Had not been bribed by love or fear, 


In maiden confidence she stood, 


Unknown to him, to guide thee here. 


Though mantled in her cheek the blood, 




And told her love with such a sigh 


XVII. 


Of deep and hopeless agony. 


" Sweet Ellen, dear my life must be, 


As death had seal'd her Malcolm's doom, 


Since it is worthy care from thee ; 


And she sat sorrowing on his tomb. 


Yet life I hold but idle breath. 


Hope vanish'd from Fitz-James's eye, 


When love or honour's weigh'd with death. 


But not with hope fled sympathy; 


Then let me profit by my chance. 


He proffer'd to attend her side. 


And speak my purpose bold at once. 


As brother would a sister guide. — 


I come to bear thee from a wild. 


" ! little know'st thou Roderick's heart ! 


Where ne'er before such blossom smiled; 


Safer for both we go apart. 


By this soft hand to lead thee far 


haste thee, and from AUan learn 


From frantic scenes of feud and war. 


If thou mayst trust yon wily kern." 


Near Bochastle my horses wait ; 


With hand upon his forehead laid, 


They bear us soon to Stirling gate. 


The conflict of his mind to shade, 


I'll place thee in a lovely bower, 


A parting step or two he made; 


I'll guard thee like a tender flower — " 


Then, as some thought had cross'd his brain, 


" Oh ! hush. Sir Knight ! 'twere female art 


He paused, and turn'd, and came again. 


To say I do not read thy heart ; 




Too much, before, my selfish ear 


xrx. 


Was idly soothed my praise to hear. 


" Hear, lady, yet, a parting word ! 


That fatal bait hath lured thee back, 


It chanced in tight that my poor sword 


In deathful hour, o'er dangerous track ; 


Preserved the life of Scotland's lord. 


And how, how, can I atone 


This ring the grateful Monarch gave. 


Tlie wreck my vanity brought on ! — 


And bade, when I had boon to crave, 


One way remains — I'll tell him all — 


To bring it back and boldly claim 


Yes ! struggling bosom, forth it shall ! 


The recompense that I would name. 



52 



THE LADY 0¥ THE LAKE. 



EUen, I am no courtly lord, 


In tatter'd weeds and wild array, 


But one who lives by lance and sword, 


Stood on a cliff beside the way, 


Whose castle is his helm and shield, 


And glancing round her restless eye. 


His lordship, the embattled field. 


Upon the wood, the rock, the sky, 


Wliat from a prince can I demand, 


Seem'd nouglit to mark, yet all to spy. 


Wlio neither reck of state nor land? 


Her brow was wreath'd with gaudy broom ; 


Ellen, thy hand — the ring is thine ; 


With gesture wild she waved a plume 


Eacli guard and iisher knows the sign. 


Of feathers, which the eagles fling 


Seek thou the king witliout delay ; 


To crag and cliif from dusky wing ; 


This signet shall secure thy way ; 


Such spoils her desperate step had sought, 


And claim thy suit, whate'er it be, 


WTiere scarce was footing for the goat. 


As ransom of his pledge to me." 


The tartan plaid she first descried, 


He placed the golden circlet on. 


And shriek'd, till all the rocks replied ; 


Paused — kiss'd her hand — and then was gone. 


As loud she laugli'd Avhen near they drew. 


The aged Minstrel stood aghast, 


For then the Lowland garb she knew ; 


So hastily Fitz-James shot past. 


And then her hands she wUdly wrung. 


He join'd his guide, and wending down 


And then she wept, and then she sung — 


The ridges of the mountain brown. 


She simg ! — the voice in better time. 


Across the stream they took their way. 


Perchance to harp or lute might chime ; 


That joins Loch-Katrine to Achray. 


And now, though strain'd and roughen'd, still 


\\ 


Eung wildly sweet to dale and hill. 


All in the Trosach's glen was still. 


XXII. 


Noontide was sleeping on the hiU : 




Sudden his guide whoop'd loud and high — 


SONG. 


" Murdoch ! was that a signal cry ? " 


" They bid me sleep, they bid me pray. 


He stammer'd forth, — " I shout to scare 


They say my brain is warp'd and wrung — 


Yon raven from his dainty fare." — 


I cannot sleep on Highland brae, 


He look'd — he knew the raven's prey, 


I cannot pray in Highland tongue. 


His own brave steed : — " All ! gallant gray ! 


But were I now where Allan glides, 


For thee — for me, perchance — 'twere well 


Or heard my native Devan's tides, 


We ne'er had seen the Trosach's dell. — 


So sweetly would I rest, and pray 


Murdoch, move first — but silently ; 


That heaven would close my wintry day ! 


Whistle or whoop, and thou shalt die ! " 




Jealous and sullen on they fared. 


"'Twas thus my hair they bade me braid, 


Each silent, each upon his guard. 


They bade me to the church repair; 




It was my bridal morn they said. 


XXI. 


And my true love would meet me there. 


Now wound the path its dizzy ledge 


But woe betide the cruel guile. 


Around a precipice's edge. 


That drown'd in blood the morning smile ! 


When lo ! a wasted feinale form, 


And woe betide the fairy dream ! 


Blighted by wrath of sun and storm, 


I only waked to sob and scream." 



THE PROPHECY. 



53 



THEY BID ME SLEEP. 



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" Wlio is tliis maid? what means her lay? 

She hovers o'er the hollow way, 

And flutters wide her mantle gray, 

As the lone heron spreads his wing. 

By twilight, o'er a haunted spring." 

'"Tis Blanche of Devan," Murdoch said, 

"A crazed and captive Lowland maid, 

Ta'en on the morn she was a bride, 

"Wlien Koderick foray'd Devan-side. 

The gay bridegroom resistance made, 

And felt our Chief's unconquer'd blade. 

I marvel she is now at large. 

But oft she 'scapes from Maudlin's charge. — 

Hence, brain-sick fool!" — He raised his bow: — 

" Now, if thou strik'st her but one blow, 

I'll pitch thee from the cliff as far 

As ever peasant pitch'd a bar ! " 

" Thanks, champion, thanks ! " the Maniac cried. 

And press'd her to Fitz-James's side. 

" See the gray pennons I prepare. 

To seek my true-love through the air ! 

I will not lend that savage groom, 

To break his fall, one downy plume ! 

No ! — deep amid disjointed stones. 

The wolves shall batten on his bones. 

And then shall his detested plaid. 

By bush and brier in mid-air stay'd, 

"Wave forth a banner fair and free. 

Meet signal for their revelry." 

XXIV. 

" Hush thee, poor maiden, and be still ! " 
" ! thou look'st kindly, and I will. 
Mine eye has dried and wasted been. 
But still it loves the Lincoln green ; 



And, though mine ear is all unstrung. 
Still, stdl it loves the Lowland tongue. 

" For my sweet WOliam was forester true, 
He stole poor Blanche's heart away ! 
His coat it was all of the greenwood hue. 
And so blithely he trill'd the Lowland lay! 

" It was not that I meant to tell 

But thou art wise and guessest well." 
Then, in a low and broken tone. 
And hurried note, the song went on. 
Still on the clansman, fearfully, 
She fixed her apprehensive eye ; 
Then turn'd it on the Knight, and then 
Her look glanced wildly o'er the glen. 



'The toils are pitch'd, and the stakes are set, 

Ever sing merrily, merrily ; 
The bows they bend, and the knives they whet, 
Hunters live so cheerily. 

' It was a stag, a stag of ten,* 

Bearing his branches sturdily ; 
He came stately down the glen, 
Ever sing hardily, hardily. 

' It was there he met with a woun'ded doe, 

She was bleeding deathfully ; 
She warn'd him of the toils below, 
O so faithfully, faithfully ! 

' He liad an eye, and he could heed. 

Ever sing warily, warily ; 
He had a foot, and he coidd speed — 

Hunters watch so narrowly." 

* Having ten branches on his antlers. 



THE PROPHECY. 



55 




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THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



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THE PROPHECY. 



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Fitz-James's mind was passion-toss'd, 
When Ellen's hints and fears were lost; 
But Murdoch's shout suspicion \vrought, 
And Blanche's song conviction brought. 
Not like a stag that spies the snare, 
But lion of the hunt aware. 
He waved at once his blade on high, 
" Disclose thy treachery or die ! " 
Portli at full speed the clansman flew. 
But in his race his bow he drew. 
The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's crest, 
And thriU'd in Blanche's faded breast. 
Murdoch of Alpine ! prove thy speed. 
For ne'er had AlpLae's son such need ! 
With heart of fire, and foot of wind, 
The fierce avenger is behind ! 
Fate judges of the rapid strife — 
The forfeit death — the prize is life ! 
Thy kindred ambush hes before, 
Close couch'd upon the heathery moor ; 
Them could'st thou reach ! — it may not be- 
Thine ambush'd kin thou ne'er shalt see, 
The fiery Saxon gains on thee ! 



— Kesistless speeds the deadly thrust. 
As lightning strikes the pine to dust ; 
With foot and hand Fitz-James must strain, 
Ere he can win his blade again. 
Bent o'er the fall'n, with falcon eye, 
He grimly smiled to see him die ; 
Then slower wended back his way, 
Where the poor maiden bleeding lay. 



She sate beneath the birchen tree. 

Her elbow resting on her knee ; 

She had withdrawn the fatal shaft. 

And gazed on it, and feebly laugh'd ; 

Her wreath of broom and feathers gray, 

Daggled with blood, ' beside her lay. 

The knight to staunch the life-stream tried, 

" Stranger, it is in vain ! " she cried. 

"This hour of death has given me more 

Of reason's power than years before; 

For, as these ebbing veins decay, 

My frenzied visions fade away. 

A helpless injured wretch I die, 

And something tells me in thine eye, 



58 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



That thou wert mine avenger born. 
Seest thou this tress 1 — ! still I've worn 
This little tress of yellow hair, 
Through danger, frenzy, and despair ! 
It once was bright and clear as thine, 
But blood and tears have dimm'd its shine. 
I wUl not tell thee when 'twas shred, 
Nor from what guiltless victim's head — 
My brain would turn ! — but it shall wave 
Like plumage on thy helmet brave, 
Till sun and wind shall bleach the stain, 
And thou wilt bring it me again. 
I waver stUl. — God ! more bright 
Let reason beam her parting light ! — 
! by thy knighthood's honour'd sign, 
And for thy life preserved by mine, 
When thou shalt see a darksome man. 
Who boasts him Chief of Alpine's clan. 
With tartans broad and shadowy plume, 
And hand of blood, and brow of gloom. 
Be thy heart bold, thy weapon strong, 
And wreak poor Blanche of Devan's wrong ! — 
They watch for thee by pass and fell . . . 
Avoid the path ... God ! . . . Farewell." 

XXVIII. 

A kindly heart had brave Fitz-James ; 

Fast pour'd his eye at pity's claims. 

And now, with mingled grief and ire. 

He saw the murder'd maid expire. 

" God, in my need, be my relief. 

As I wreak this on yonder Chief ! " 

A lock from Blanche's tresses fair 

He blended with her bridegroom's hair ; 

The mingled braid in blood he dyed. 

And placed it on his bonnet-side : 

" By Him whose word is truth ! I swear. 

No other favour will I wear, 

TlU this sad token I imbrue 

In the best blood of Eoderick Dhu ! 

— But hark ! what means yon faint halloo ? 

The chase is up, — but they shall know, 

The stag at bay's a dangerous foe." 

Barr'd from the known but guarded way, 

Thi'ough copse and cliffs Fitz-James must 

stray, 
And oft must change his desperate track, 
By stream and precipice turn'd back. 



Heartless, fatigued, and faint, at length. 
From lack of food and loss of strength, 
He couch'd him in a thicket hoar. 
And thought his toils and perils o'er : — 
" Of all my rash adventures past. 
This frantic feat must prove the last ! 
Who e'er so mad but might have guess'd. 
That all this Highland hornet's nest 
Would muster up in swarms so soon 
As e'er they heard of bands of Doune? — 
Like bloodhounds now they search me out, — 
Hark, to the whistle and the shout ! — 
If farther through the wilds I go, 
I only fall upon the foe ; 
I'U couch me here tUl evening gray. 
Then darkling try my dangerous way." 

XXIX. 

The shades of eve come slowly down. 

The woods are wrapp'd in deeper brown, 

The owl awakens from her dell. 

The fox is heard upon the fell ; 

Enough remains of glimmering light 

To guide the wanderer's steps aright. 

Yet not enough from far to show 

His figure to the watchful foe. 

With cautious step, and ear awake, 

He climbs the crag and tlireads the brake ; 

And not the summer solstice, there, 

Temper'd the winter mountain air, 

But every breeze that swept the wold, 

Benumb'd his drenched limbs with cold. 

In dread, in danger, and alone, 

Famish'd and chill'd, through ways unkno'svn. 

Tangled and steep, he journey'd on ; 

TUl, as a rock's huge point he turn'd, 

A watch-fire close before him burn'd. 



Beside its embers red and clear, 

Bask'd, in his plaid, a mountaineer; 

And up he sprung with sword in hand, — 

" Thy name and purpose ! Saxon, stand ! " 

"A stranger." — "What dost thou require?" 

" Rest and a guide, and food and fire. 

My life's beset, my path is lost. 

The gale has chill'd my limbs with frost." 



THE PROPHECY. 



59 



"Art thou a friend to Roderick ?"—" No." 
"Thou dar'.st not caU thyself a foe?" 
" I dare ! to him and all the band 
He brings to aid his murderous hand." 
" Bold words ! — but, though the beast of 

game 
The privilege of chase may claim, 
Thougli space and law the stag we lend, 
Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend, 
Who ever reck'd, where, how, or when, 
The prowling fox was trapp'd or slain? 
Thus treacherous scouts, — yet sure they lie, 
"Who say thou cam'st a secret spy ! " 
" They do, by heaven ! — Come Roderick Dhu, 
And of his clan the boldest two, 
And let me hut till morning rest, 
I write the falsehood on their crest." 
" If by the blaze I mark ariglit, 
Thou bear'st the belt and spur of Knight." 
" Then by these tokens mayst thou know 
Each proud oppressor's mortal foe." 
"Enough, enough; sit down and share 
A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare." 



He gave him of his Highland cheer, 
The harden'd flesh of mountain deer ; 
Dry fuel on the fire he laid. 
And bade the Saxon share his plaid. 
He tended him like welcome guest. 
Then thus his farther speech address'd. 



" Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu 

A clansman born, a kinsman true ; 

Each word against his honour spoke, 

Demands of me avenging stroke ; 

Yet more, — upon thy fate, 'tis said, 

A mighty augury is laid. 

It rests with me to wind my horn. 

Thou art with numbers overborne; 

It rests with me, here, brand to brand, 

Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand : 

But, not for clan, nor kindred's cause. 

Will I depart from honour's laws : 

To assail a wearied man were shame. 

And stranger is a holy name ; 

Guidance and rest, and food and fire, 

In vain he never must require. 

Then rest thee here till dawn of day ; 

Myself will guide thee on the way, 

O'er stock and stone, through watch and ward, 

TUl past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard. 

As far as Coilantogle's ford : 

From thence thy warrant is thy sword." 

" I take thy courtesy, by Heaven, 

As freely as 'tis nobly given ! " 

" Well, rest thee : for the bittern's cry 

Sings us the lake's wUd lullaby." 

With that he shook the gather'd heath, 

And spread his plaid upon the wreath : 

And the brave foemen, side by side. 

Lay peaceful down like brothers tried. 

And slept until the dawning beam 

Purpled the mountain and the stream. 




OAI^TO FIFTH, 



THE COMBAT. 



Fair as the earliest beam of eastern light, 

Wlien first, by the bewikler'J pilgrim spied, 
It smiles upon the drearj' brow of uight, 

And silvers o'er the ton-eut's foaming tide, 
And lights the fearful path on mountain side ; — 

Fair as that beam, although the fairest far, 
Giving to horror grace, to danger pride. 

Shine martial Faith, and Courtesy's bright star. 
Through all the wreckful storms that cloud the 
brow of War. 



That early beam, so fair and sheen, 
Was tmnkling through the hazel screen, 
Wlien, rousing at its glimmer red, 
The warriors left their lowly bed, 
Look'd out upon the dappled sky, 
Mutter'd their soldier matins by. 
And then awaked their fire, to steal, 
As short and rude, their soldier meal. 
That o'er, the Gael * around him threw 
His graceful plaid of varied hue, 
And true to promise, led the way, 
By thicket green and mountain gray. 
A wildering path ! — they winded now 
Along the precipice's brow, 
Commanding the rich scenes beneath, 
The windings of the Forth and Teith, 
And all the vales between that lie. 
Till Stirling's turrets melt in sky ; 
Then, sunk in copse, their farthest glance 
Gain'd not the length of horseman's lance. 

* The Scottish Highlander calls himself Gael, or Gaul, and tenns 
the Lowlanders Sassenach, or Saxons. 



'Twas oft so steep, the foot was fain 
Assistance from the hand to gain ; 
So tangled oft, that, bursting through. 
Each hawthorn shed her showers of dew, — 
That diamond dew, so pure and clear, 
It rivals all but Beauty's tear ! 

in. 

At length they came where, stern and steep, 

The hill sinks down upon the deep. 

Here Vennaohar in silver flows. 

There, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose, 

Ever the hollow path twined on, 

Beneath steep bank and threatening stone ; 

A hundred men might hold the post 

With hardihood against a host. 

The rugged mountain's scanty cloak 

Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and oak, 

With shingles bare, and cliffs between. 

And patches bright of bracken green. 

And heather black, that waved so high, 

It held the copse in rivalry. 

But where the lake slept deep and still, 

Dank osiers fringed the swamp and hill ; 

And oft both path and hill were torn, 

"\Aniere wintry torrent down had borne ; 

And heap'd upon the cumber'd land 

Its wreck of gravel, rocks, and sand. 

So toilsome was the road to trace. 

The guide, abating of his pace, 

Led slowly through the pass's jaws. 

And ask'd Fitz-James, by what strange 

cause 
He sought these wilds 1 traversed by few. 
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu. 



THE COMBAT. 



61 



"Brave Gael, my pass, in danger tried, 
Hangs in my belt, and by my side ; 
Yet, sooth to tell," the Saxon said, 
" I dream'd not now to claim its aid. 
"Wlien here, but three days since, I came, 
Bewilder'd in pursuit of game. 
All seem'd as peaceful and as still 
As the mist slumbering on yon hill ; 
Thy dangerous Chief was then afar, 
Nor soon expected back from war. 
Thus said, at least, my mountain guide. 
Though deep, perchance, the villain lied." 
" Yet why a second venture try 1 " 
" A warrior thou, and ask me why ! — 
Moves our free course by such fix'd cause. 
As gives the poor mechanic laws? 
Enough, I sought to drive away 
The lazy hours of peaceful day ; 
Shght cause wiU then suffice to guide 
A Knight's free footsteps far and wide, — 
A falcon flown, a greyhound stray'd. 
The merry glance of mountain maid; 
Or, if a path be dangerous known, 
The danger's self is lure alone." 



"Thy secret keep, I urge thee not; 
Yet, ere again ye sought this spot. 
Say, heard ye nought of Lowland war. 
Against Clan- Alpine raised by Mar?" 
" No, by my word ; — of bands prepared 
To guard King James's sports I heard ; 
Nor doubt I aught, but, when they hear 
This muster of the mountaineer. 
Their pennons wiU abroad be flung. 
Which else in Doune had peaceful hung." 
" Free be they flung ! for we were loth 
Their silken folds should feast the moth. 
Free be they flung ! — as free shall wave 
Clan-Alpine's pine in banner brave. 
But, Stranger, peaceful since you came, 
Bewilder'd in the mountain game. 
Whence the bold boast by which you 

show, 
VichAlpine's vow'd and mortal foe?" 
" Warrior, but yestermorn, I knew 
Nought of thy chieftain, Roderick Dhu, 



Save as an outlaw 'd desperate man, 
The chief of a rebellious clan, 
MHio, in the Eegent's court and sight. 
With ruffian dagger stabb'd a knight ; 
Yet tliis alone might from his part 
Sever each true and loyal heart." 

VI. 

Wrothful at such arraignment foul, 
Dark lower'd the clansman's sable scowl. 
A space he paused, then sternly said, — 
"And heardst thou why he drew his blade? 
Heardst thou that shameful word and blow 
Brought Roderick's vengeance on his foe? 
What reck'd the Chieftain if he stood 
On Highland heath or Holy-Rood? 
He rights such wrong where it is given, 
If it were in the court of heaven." 
" StUl was it outrage ; — yet, 'tis true. 
Not then claim'd sovereignty his due; 
While Albany, with feeble hand. 
Held borrow'd truncheon of command, 
The young King, mew'd in Stirling tower. 
Was stranger to respect and power. 
But then, thy Chieftain's robber life ! — 
Winning mean prey by causeless strife. 
Wrenching from ruin'd Lowland swain 
Has herds and harvest rear'd in vain, — 
Methinks a soul like thine should scorn 
The spoils from such foul foray borne." 



The Gael beheld him grim the while. 
And answer'd with disdainful smile, — 
" Saxon, from yonder mountain high, 
I mark'd thee send delighted eye 
Far to the south and east, where lay. 
Extended in .succession gay. 
Deep waving fields and pastures green. 
With gentle slopes and groves between : — • 
These fertile plains, that soften'd vale, 
Were once the birthright of the Gael ; 
The stranger came with iron hand, 
And from our fathers reft the land. 
Where dwell we now ! See, rudely swell 
Crag over crag, and fell o'er fell. 
Ask we this savage hill we tread. 
For fatten'd steer or household bread ; 



62 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



Ask we for flocks these shingles dry, 
And well the mountain might reply, — 
' To you, as to your sires of yore. 
Belong the target and claymore ! 
I give you shelter in my breast, 
Your own good blades must win the rest.' 
Pent in this fortress of the North, 
Think'st thou we will not saUy forth, 
To spoil the spoiler as we may, 
And from the robber rend the prey? 
Ay, by my soul ! — "WHiile on yon plain 
The Saxon rears one shock of grain ; 
While, of ton thousand herds, there strays 
But one along yon river's maze, — 
The Gael, of plain and river heir. 
Shall, with strong hand, redeem his share. 
"S^Tiere live the mountain chiefs who hold. 
That plundering Lowland field and fold 
Is aught but retribution true? 
Seek other cause 'gainst Roderick Dhu." 



Answer'd Fitz-James, — " And, if I sought, 

Think'st thou no other could be brought? 

What deem ye of my path waylaid? 

My life given o'er to ambuscade?" 

" As of a meed to rashness due : 

Hadst thou sent warning fair and true, — 

I seek my hound, or falcon stray'd, 

I seek, good faith, a Highland maid,— 

Free hadst thou been to come and go ; 

But secret path marks secret foe. 

Nor yet, for this, even as a spy, 

Hadst thou, unheard, been doom'd to die, 

Save to fulfil an augury." 

" Well, let it pass ; nor will I now 

Fresh cause of enmity avow, 

To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow. 

Enough, I am by promise tied 

To match me with this man of pride : 

Twice have I sought Clan-Alpine's glen 

In peace ; but when I come again, 

I come with banner, brand, and bow, 

As leader seeks his mortal foe. 

For love-lorn swain, in lady's bower. 

Ne'er panted for the appointed hour. 

As I, until before me stand 

This rebel Chieftain and his band." 



IX. 

" Have, then, thy wish ! " — He whistled .shrill. 

And he was answer'd from the hill ; 

Wild as the scream of the curlew, 

From crag to crag the signal flew. 

Instant, through copse and heath, arose 

Bonnets and spears and bended bows ; 

On right, on left, above, below. 

Sprung up at once the lurking foe ; 

From shingles gray their lances start. 

The bracken bush sends forth the dart. 

The rushes and the willow-wand 

Are bristling into axe and brand. 

And every tuft of broom gives life 

To plaidod warrior arm'd for strife. 

That whistle garrison'd the glen 

At once with full five hundred men. 

As if the yawning hill to heaven 

A subterranean host had given. 

Watching their leader's beck and will, 

All silent there they stood, and stiU, 

Like the loose crags whose threatening 

mass 
Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass, 
As if an infant's touch could urge 
Their headlong passage down the verge, 
With step and weapon forward flung, 
Upon the mountain-side they hung. 
The mountaineer cast glance of pride 
Along Benledi's living side. 
Then fix'd his eye and sable brow 
FuU on Fitz-James — "How say'st thou now? 
These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true ; 
And, Saxon, — I am Roderick Dhu ! " 



Fitz-James was brave : — Though to his heart 
The life-blood thrill'd with sudden start. 
He mann'd himself with dauntless air, 
Return'd the Chief his haughty stare. 
His back against a rock he bore. 
And firmly placed liis foot before : — 
" Come one, come all ! this rock shall fly 
From its firm base as soon as I." 
Sir Roderick mark'd — and in his eyes 
Respect was mingled w^ith surprise, 
And the stern joy which warriors feel 
In foemen worthy of their steel. 



THE COMBAT. 



68 



Short space he stood — then waved his hand : 

Dowu sunk the disappearing baud ; 

Each warrior vauish'd where he stood, 

In broom or bracken, heath or wood ; 

Sunk brand and spear and bended bow, 

In osiers pale and copses low ; 

It seem'd as if their mother Earth 

Had swallow'd up her warlike birth. 

The wind's last breath had toss'd in air 

Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair, — 

The next but swept a lone hill-side, 

WTiere heath and fern were waving wide; 

The sun's last glance was glinted back 

From spear and glaive, from targe and jack, — 

The next, all imreflected, shone 

On bracken green, and cold gray stone. 

XI. 

Fitz-James look'd round — yet scarce believed 

The witness that his sight received; 

Such apparition well might seem 

Delusion of a dreadfid dream. 

Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed, 

And to his look the Chief replied, 

" Fear nought — nay, that I need not say^ 

But — doubt not aught from mine array. 

Thou art my guest ; — I pledged my word 

As far as Coilantogle ford : 

Nor would I call a clansman's brand 

For aid against one valiant hand. 

Though on our strife lay every vale 

Eent by the Saxon from the Gael. 

So move we on ; — I only meant 

To show the reed on which you leant. 

Deeming this path you might pursue 

Without a pass from Roderick Dhu." 

They moved : — I said Fitz-James was brave. 

As ever knight that belted glaive ; 

Yet dare not say, that now his blood 

Kept on its wont and temper'd flood, 

As, following Roderick's stride, he drew 

That seeming lonesome pathway through. 

Which yet, by fearful proof, was rife 

With lances, that, to take his life. 

Waited but signal from a guide. 

So late di.shonour'd and dehed. 

Ever, by stealth, his eye sought round 

The vanish'd guardians of the ground. 



And still, from copse and heather deep, 
Fancy saw spear and broadsword peep. 
And in the plover's shrilly strain. 
The signal whistle heard again. 
Nor breathed he free till far behind 
The pass was left ; for then they wind 
Along a wide and level green, 
Wliere neither tree nor tuft was seen, 
Nor rush, nor bush of broom was near. 
To hide a bonnet or a spear. 



The Chief in silence strode before. 

And reach'd that torrent's sounding shore, 

Which, daughter of three mighty lakes, 

From Vennachar in silver breaks. 

Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines 

On Bochastle the mouldering lines, 

Where Rome, the Empress of the world. 

Of yore her eagle wings unfurl'd. 

And here his course the Chieftain stay'd. 

Threw down his target and his plaid, 

And to the Lowland warrior said :— 

" Bold Saxon ! to his promise just, 

Vich- Alpine has discharged his trust ; 

This murderous Chief, this ruthless man, 

This head of a rebellious clan, 

Hath led thee safe, through watch and 

ward. 
Far past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard. 
Now, man to man, and steel to steel, 
A chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel. 
See, here, all vantageless I stand, 
Arm'd, like thyself, with single brand ; 
For this is Coilantogle ford. 
And thou must keep thee with thy sword." 



The Saxon paused: — "I ne'er delay'd. 
When foeman bade me draw my blade ; 
Nay more, brave Chief, I vow'd thy death: 
Yet sure thy fair and generous faith, 
And my deep debt for Ufe preserved, 
A better meed have well deserved : 
Can nought but blood our feud atone? 
Ai'e there no means 1 " — " No, Stranger, none ; 
And hear, — to fire thy flagging zeal,— - 
The Saxon cause rests on thy steel; 



64 



THE LADY OP THE LAKE. 



For thus spoke Fate by prophet bred 
Between the living and the dead : 
' Who spills the foremost foeman's life, 
His party conquers in the strife.' " 
"Then, by my word," the Saxon said, 
" The riddle is already read. 
Seek yonder brake beneath the cliif, — 
There lies Eed Murdoch, stark and stiff. 
Thus Fate has solved her prophecy, 
Then yield to Fate, and not to me. 
To James, at Stirling, let us go, 
"When, if thou wUt be still his foe. 
Or if the King shall not agree 
To grant thee grace and favour free, 
I plight mine honour, oath, and word 
That, to thy native strength restored, 
With each advantage shalt thou stand, 
That aids thee now to guard thy land." 



Dark lightning flash VI from Roderick's eye — 
" Soars tliy presumption then so liigh. 
Because a wretched kern ye slew, 
Homage to name to Eoderick Dhu? 
He yields not, he, to man or Fate ! 
Thou add'st hut fuel to my hate : 
My clansman's blood demands revenge. 
Not yet prepared? — By heaven, I change 
My thought, and hold thy valor light 
As that of some vain carpet knight. 
Who ill deserved my courteous care. 
And whose best boast is but to wear 
A braid of liis fair lady's hair." 
— " I thank thee, Eoderick, for the word ! 
It nerves my heart, it steels my sword. 
For I have sworn this braid to stain 
In the best blood that warms thy vein. 
Now, truce, farewell ! and ruth, begone ! — 
Yet think not that by thee alone. 
Proud Chief ! can courtesy be shown ; 
Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn. 
Start at my whistle, clansmen stern, 
Of this small horn one feeble blast 
Would fearful odds against thee cast. 
But fear not — doubt not — which thou wilt- 
We try this quarrel hilt to hilt." 
Then each at once his faulchion drew, 
Eacli on the ground his scabbard threw, 



Each look'd to sun, and stream, and plain. 
As what they ne'er might see again ; 
Then foot, and point, and eye opposed. 
In dubious strife they darkly closed. 



Ill fared it then with Eoderick Dhu, 
That on the field his targe he threw. 
Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide 
Had death so often dash'd aside ; 
For, train'd abroad his arms to wield, 
Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield. 
He practised every pass and ward. 
To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard ; 
While less expert, though stronger far. 
The Gael maintain'd unequal war. 
Three times in closing strife they stood. 
And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood ; 
No stinted draught, no scanty tide, 
The gushing flood the tartans dyed. 
Fierce Eoderick felt the fatal drain, 
And shower'd his blows like wintry rain; 
And, as firm rock, or castle roof, 
Against the winter shower is proof. 
The foe, invulnerable still, 
Foil'd his wUd rage by steady skill ; 
Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand 
Forced Eoderick's weapon from his hand. 
And, backward borne upon the lea. 
Brought the proud Chieftain to his knee. 



" Now, yield thee, or by Him who made 
The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade!" 
" Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy ! 
Let recreant yield who fears to die." 
Like adder darting from his coil. 
Like wolf that dashes through the toil. 
Like mountain-cat who guards her young, 
Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung; 
Eeceived, but reck'd not of a wound, 
And lock'd his arms his foeman round. — 
Now, gallant Saxon, hold tliine own ! 
No maiden's hand is round thee thrown ! 
That desperate grasp thy frame might feel, 
Through bars of brass and triple steel ! — 
They tug, they strain ! — down, down they go, 
The Gael above, Fitz-James below. 



THE COMBAT. 



65 



The Chieftain's gripe his throat compress'd, 
His kuee was planted in his breast • 
His clotted locks he backward threw, 
Across his brow his hand he drew, 
From blood and mist to clear liis sight. 
Then gleam'd aloft his dagger bright ! 
— But hate and fury ill supplied 
The stream of life's exhausted tide, 
And all too late the advantage came, 
To turn the odds of deadly game; 
For, while the dagger gleam'd on liigh, ■ 
Eeel'd soul and sense, reel'd brain and eye. 
Down came the blow! but in the heath 
The erring blade found bloodless sheath 
The struggling foe may now unclasp 
The fainting Chief's relaxing grasp; 
Unwounded from the dreadful close. 
But breathless all, Fitz-James arose. 



He falter'd thanks to Heaven for life, 
Eedeem'd, unhoped, from desperate strife; 
Next on his foe his look he cast. 
Whose every gasp appear'd his last; 
In Roderick's gore he dipp'd the braid, — 
" Poor Blanche ! thy wrongs are dearly 

paid ! 
Yet with thy foe must die, or live. 
The praise that Faith and Valour give." 
With that he blew a bugle note, 
Undid the collar from his throat, 
Unbonneted, and by the wave 
Sate down his brow and hands to lave. 
Then faint afar are heard the feet 
Of rushing steeds in gallop fleet; 
The sounds increase, and now are seen 
Four mounted squires in Lincoln green ; 
Two who bear lance, and two who lead, 
By loosen'd rein, a saddled steed ; 
Each onward held his headlong course, 
And by Fitz-James rein'd up his horse, — 
With wonder view'd the bloody spot — 
" Exclaim not, gallants ! question not. — 
You, Herbert and Luffness, alight. 
And bind the wounds of yonder knight ; 
Let the gray palfrey bear his weight, 
We destined for a fairer freight, 
And bring him on to Stirling straight: 



I will before, at better speed. 
To seek fresh horse and fitting weed. 
The sun rides high; — I must bo boune 
To see the archer-game at noon ; 
But lightly Bayard clears the lea. — 
De Vaux and Herries, follow me. 

XVIII. 

"Stand, Bayard, stand ! "—The steed obey'd, 
With arching neck and bended head, 
And glancing eye, and quivering ear. 
As if he loved his lord to hear. 
No foot Fitz-James in stirrup stay'd. 
No grasp upon the saddle laid. 
But wreathed his left hand in the mane. 
And lightly bounded from the plain, 
Turn'd on the horse his armi^d heel. 
And stirr'd his courage with the steel. 
Bounded the fiery steed in air, 
The rider sate, erect and fair. 
Then, like a bolt from steel crossbow 
Forth launch'd, along the plain they go. 
They dash'd that rapid torrent through, 
And up Carhonie's hiU they flew ; 
Still at the gallop prick'd the Knight; 
His merry-men follow'd as they might. 
Along thy banks, swift Teith ! they ride, 
And in the race they mock thy tide ; 
Torry and Lendrick now are past. 
And Deanstown lies behind them cast; 
They rise, the banner'd towers of Doune, 
They sink in distant woodland soon; 
Blair-Drummond sees the hoofs strike fire. 
They sweep like breeze through Ochtertyre; 
They mark just glance and disappear 
The lofty brow of ancient Kier; 
They bathe their coursers' sweltering sides, 
Dark Forth ! amid thy sluggish tides. 
And on the opposing shore take ground. 
With plash, with scramble, and with bound. 
Right-hand they leave thy cliffs, Craig-Forth ! 
And soon the bulwark of the North, 
Gray Stirling, with her towers and to'wn, 
Upon their fleet career look'd down. 

XIX. 

As up the flinty path they strain'd, 
Sudden his steed the leader rein'd ; 



66 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



A signal to his squire he flung, 

Who instant to his stirrup sprung : 

" Seest thou, De Vaux, yon woodsman 

gray, 
Who to'^vnward holds the rocky way, 
Of stature taU and poor array? 
Mark'st thou the firm, yet active stride, 
With which he scales the mountain side? 
Know'st thou from whence he comes, or 

whom ? " 
" No, by my word ; — a burly groom 
He seems, who in the field or chase 
A baron's train would nobly grace." 
" Out, out, De Vaux ! can fear supply, 
And jealousy, no sharper eye? 
Afar, ere to the hiU he drew. 
That stately form and step I knew ; 
Like form in Scotland is not seen, 
Treads not such step on Scottish green. 
'Tis James of Douglas, by Saint Serle ! 
The uncle of the banish'd Earl. 
Away, away, to court, to show 
The near approach of dreaded foe : 
The King must stand upon his guard ; 
Douglas and he must meet prepared." 
Then right-hand wheel'd their steeds, and 

straight 
They won the castle's postern gate. 



The Douglas, who had bent his way 

From Cambus-Kenneth's abbey gray. 

Now, as he climb'd the rooky shelf. 

Held sad communion with liimself. 

" Yes ! all is true my fears could frame ; 

A prisoner lies the noble Graeme, 

And fiery Eoderick soon will feel 

The vengeance of the royal steel. 

I, only I, can ward their fate, — 

God grant the ransom come not late ! 

The Abbess liath her promise given. 

My child shall be the bride of Heaven ; — 

— Be pardon'd one repining tear ! 

For He, who gave her, knows how dear. 

How excellent ! — but that is by, 

And now my business is — to die. 

— Ye towers ! within whose circuit dread 

A Douglas by his sovereign bled. 



And thou, sad and fatal mound ! * 

That oft hast heard the death-axe sound. 

As on the noblest of the land 

Fell the stern headsman's bloody hand, — 

The dungeon, block, and nameless tomb 

Prepare, — for Douglas seeks his doom ! 

— But hark ! what blithe and jolly peal 

Makes the Franciscan steeple reel? 

And see ! upon the crowded street. 

In motley groups what masquers meet ! 

Banner and pageant, pipe and drum, 

And merry morrice-danoers come. 

I guess, by aU this quaint array, 

The burghers hold their sports to-day. 

James wUl be there ; — he loves such show, 

^liere the good yeoman bends his bow. 

And the tough wrestler foils his foe, 

As well as where, in proud career. 

The high-born tilter shivers spear. 

I'll follow to the Castle-park, 

And play my prize : — King James shall mark, 

If age has tamed these sinews stark. 

Whose force so oft, in happier days. 

His boyish wonder loved to praise." 



The Castle gates were open flung. 

The quivering drawbridge rock'd and nmg. 

And echo'd loud the flinty street 

Beneath the coursers' clattering feet. 

As slowly down the deep descent 

Fair Scotland's King and nobles went, 

"VATiile all along the crowded way 

Was jubilee and loud huzza. 

And ever James was bending low, 

To his white jennet's saddle bow. 

Doffing his cap to city dame, 

Wl\o smiled and blush'd for pride and shame. 

And well the simperer might be vain, — 

He chose the fairest of the train. 

Gravely he greets each city sire. 

Commends each pageant's quaint attire. 

Gives to the dancers thanks aloud. 

And smiles and nods upon the crowd. 

Who rend the heavens with their acclaims, 

"Long live the Commons' King, King James!" 

* An eminence on the aortlieast of the castle, where stati' ciiminals 
were executed. 



THE COMBAT. 



67 



Behind the Kuig throngVl peer and knight, 
And noble dame and damsel bright, 
Whose fiery steeds ill brook'd the stay 
Of the steep street and crowded way. 
— But in the train you might discern 
Dark lowering brow and visage stern ; 
There nobles mourn'd their pride restrain'd, 
And the mean burgher's joys disdain 'd ; 
And chiefs, who, hostage for their clan. 
Were each from home a banish'd man, 
There thought upon their own gray tower, 
Their waving woods, their feudal power, 
And deem'd themselves a shameful part 
Of pageant which they cursed in heart. 



Now, in the Castle-park, drew out 
Their chequer'd bands the joyous rout. 
There morricers, with bell at heel. 
And blade in hand, their mazes wheel ; 
But chief, beside the butts, there stand 
Bold Robin Hood and aU liis band, — 
Friar Tuck with quarter-staff and cowl, 
Old Scathelocke with his surly scowl, 
Maid Marian, fair as ivory bone. 
Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John ; 
Their bugles challenge all that will. 
In archery to prove their skill. 
The Douglas bent a bow of might, — 
His first shaft center'd in the white. 
And when in turn he shot again. 
His second split the^ first in twain. 
From the King's hand must Douglas take 
A silver dart, the archers' stake ; 
Fondly he watch'd, with watery eye, 
Some answering glance of sympathy, — 
No kind emotion made reply ! 
Inditferent as to archer wight. 
The Monarch gave the arrow bright. 

XXIII. 

Now, clear the Ring ! for, hand to hand. 
The manly %vrestlers take their stand. 
Two o'er the rest superior rose. 
And proud demanded mightier foes. 
Nor call'd in vain ; for Douglas came. 
— For life is Hugh of Larbert lame; 



Scarce better John of Alloa's fare, 

'Whom senseless home his conu'ades bear. 

Prize of the wrestling match, the King 

To Douglas gave a golden ring. 

While coldly glanced his eye of blue, 

As frozen drop of wintry dew. 

Douglas woidd speak, but in his breast 

His struggling soul his words suppress'd : 

Indignant then he turn'd him wliere 

Their arms the brawny yeomen bare. 

To hurl the massive bar in air. 

When each his utmost strength had shown, 

The Douglas rent an earth-fast stone 

From its de.ep bed, then heaved it high. 

And sent the fragment thi'ough the sky, 

A rood beyond the farthest mark ; — 

And still in Stirling's royal park. 

The gray-hair'd sires who know the past. 

To strangers point the Douglas-cast, 

And moralize on the decay 

Of Scottish strength in modern day. 

XXIV. 

The vale with loud applauses rang. 
The Ladies' Rock sent back the clang ; 
The King, witli look unmoved, bestow'd 
A purse well fiU'd \nth. pieces broad. 
Indignant smiled the Douglas proud. 
And threw the gold among the crowd, 
Who now, with anxious wonder, scan. 
And sharper glance, the dark gray man ; 
Till whispers rose among the throng. 
That heart so free, and hand so strong. 
Must to the Douglas blood belong: 
The old men mark'd and shook the head 
To see his hair with silver spread. 
And wink'd aside, and told each son 
Of feats upon the English done. 
Ere Douglas of the stalwart hand 
Was exiled from his native laud. 
The women praised his stately form, 
Though wTcck'd by many a winter's stonn ; 
The youth with awe and wonder saw 
His strength surpassing Nature's law. 
Thus judged, as is their wont, the crowd. 
Till murmur rose to clamours loud. 
But not a glance from that proud ring 
Of peers who firc'ed round the King, 



68 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



With Douglas held communion kind, 
Or call'd the banish'd man to mind ; 
No, not from those, who, at the chase, 
Once held his side the honour'd place, 
Begirt his board, and, in the field, 
Found safety underneath his shield ; 
For he, whom royal eyes diso\vn. 
When was his form to courtiers known? 



The Monarch saw the gambols flag, 
And bade let loose a gallant stag. 
Whose pride, the holiday to crown. 
Two favourite greyhounds should pull 

down. 
That ven'son free, and Bordeaux wine. 
Might serve the archery to dine. 
But Lufra, — whom from Douglas' side 
Nor bribe nor threat could e'er divide, 
The fleetest hound in all the North, — 
Brave Lufra saw, and darted forth. 
She left the royal hounds midway, 
And, dashing on the antler'd prey, 
Sunk her sharp muzzle in his flank, 
And deep the flowing life-blood drank. 
The King's stout huntsman saw the sport 
By strange intruder broken short. 
Came up, and, with his leash unbound. 
In anger struck the noble hound. 
— The Douglas had endured, that morn. 
The King's cold look, the nobles' scorn, 
And last, and worst to spirit proud. 
Had borne the pity of the crowd ; 
But Lufra had been fondly bred. 
To share his board, to watch his bed, 
And oft would Ellen, Lufra's neck. 
In maiden glee, with garlands deck ; 
They were such playmates, that with name 
Of Lufra, Ellen's image came. 
His stifled wrath is brimming high. 
In darken'd brow and flashing eye ; 
As waves before the bark divide, 
The crowd gave way before his stride ; 
Needs but a builet and no more, 
The groom lies senseless in his gore. 
Such blow no other hand could deal. 
Though gauntleted in glove of steel. 



Then clamour'd loud the royal train, 
And brandish'd swords and staves amain. 
But stern the Baron's warning — " Back ! 
Back, on your lives, ye menial pack ! 
Beware the Douglas. — Yes ! behold, 
King James, the Douglas, doom'd of old. 
And vainly sought for near and far, 
A victim to atone the war, 
A willing victim, now attends. 
Nor craves thy grace but for his friends." 
— "Thus is my clemency repaid? 
Presumptuous Lord ! " the Monarch said ; 
" Of thy mis-proud ambitious clan, 
Thou, James of Bothwell, wert the man, 
The only man, in whom a foe 
My woman-mercy would not know : 
But shall a monarch's presence brook 
Injurious blow, and haughty look ? — 
Wliat ho ! the Captain of our Guard ! 
Give the ofl^ender fitting ward. — 
Break otf the sports ! " — for tumult rose. 
And yeomen 'gan to bend their bows ! — 
" Break off the sports ! " — he said, and frown'd, 
"And bid our horsemen clear the ground." 

XXVII. 

Then uproar wild and misarray 

Marr'd the fair form of festal day. 

The horsemen prick 'd among the crowd, 

Kepell'd by threats and insult loud : 

To earth are borne the old and weak, 

The timorous fly, the women shriek ; 

With flint, with shaft, with staff, with bar, 

The hardier urge tunudtuous war. 

At once round Douglas darkly sweep 

The royal spears in circle deep. 

And slowly scale the pathway steep; 

While on the rear in thunder pour 

The raljble with disorder'd roar. 

With grief the noble Douglas saw 

The Commons rise against the law. 

And to the leading soldier said, — 

" Sir John of Hyndford ! 'twas my blade 

That knighthood on thy shoulder laid; 

For that good deed, permit me then 

A word with these misguided men. 



THE COMBAT. 



69 



XXVIII. 

" Hear, gentle friends ! ere yet, for me, 

Ye break the bauds of fealty. 

My life, my honour, and my cause, 

I tender free to Scotland's laws. 

Are these so weak as must rec^uire 

The aid of your misguided ire? 

Or, if I suffer causeless wrong. 

Is then my selfish rage so strong. 

My sense of public weal so low, 

That, for mean vengeance on a foe. 

Those cords of love I should unbind, 

Wliich knit my country and my kind! 

Oh no ! Believe, in yonder tower. 

It yn]l not soothe my captive hour, 

To know those spears our foes should dread, 

For me in kindred gore are red ; 

To know, in fruitless brawl begun, 

For me, that mother wails her son ; 

For me, that widow's mate expires. 

For me, that orphans weep their sires, 

That patriots mourn insulted laws, 

And curse the Douglas for the cause. 

let your patience ward such ill, 

And keep your right to love me still ! " 

XXIX. 

The crowd's wild fury sunk again 

In tears, as tempests melt in rain. 

With lifted hands and eyes, they pray'd 

For blessings on his generous head, 

Who for his country felt alone, 

And prized her blood 'beyond his o\ni. 

Old men, upon the verge of life, 

Bless'd him who stay'd the civil strife ; 

And mothers held their babes on high, 

The self-devoted Chief to spy. 

Triumphant over wrong and ire. 

To whom the prattlers owed a sire : 

Even the rough soldier's heart was moved ; 

As if behind some bier beloved, 

With trailing arms and drooping head. 

The Douglas up the hill be led. 

And at the Castle's battled verge. 

With sighs, resign'd his honour'd charge. 



The offended Monarch rode apart. 
With bitter thought and swelling heart. 



And would not now vouchsafe again 
Through Stirling streets to lead his train. 
" O Lennox, who would wish to rule 
This changeling crowd, this common fool ? 
Hear'st thou," he said, " the loud acclaim. 
With which they shout the Douglas' name? 
With like acclaim, the vulgar throat 
Strain'd for King James their morning note ; 
With like acclaim they hail'd the day 
When first I broke the Douglas' sway ; 
And like acclaim would Douglas greet. 
If he could hurl me from my seat. 
Who o'er the herd would wish to reign, 
Fantastic, fickle, tierce, and vain ! 
Vain as the leaf upon the stream. 
And fickle as a changeful dream ; 
Fantastic as a woman's mood. 
And fierce as Frenzy's fever'd blood. 
Thou mauy-headeil monster-thing, 

who would wish to be thy king ! 

XXXI. 

" But soft ! what messenger of speed 
Spurs hitherward his panting steed? 

1 guess his cognisance afar — 

What from our cousin, John of Mar?" 

" He prays, my liege, your sports keep bound 

Within the safe and guarded ground : 

For some foul purpose yet unknown, — 

Most sure for evil to the throne, — 

The outlaw'd Chieftain, Roderick Dhu, 

Has summon'd his rebellious crew : 

'Tis said, in James of Bothwell's aid 

These loose banditti stand array'd. 

The Earl of Mar, this morn, from Doune, 

To break their muster march'd, and soon 

Your grace will hear of battle fought ; 

But earnestly the Earl besought. 

Till for such danger he provide. 

With scanty train you wUl not ride." 

XXXII. 

" Thou warn'st mo I have done amiss, — 
I should have earlier look'd to this : 
I lost it in this bustling day. 
— Retrace with speed thy former way ; 
Spare not for spoiling of thy steed. 
The best of mine shall be thy meed. 



70 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



Say to our faithful Lord of Mar, 


Nor less upon the sadden'd town 


We do forbid the intended war; 


The evening sunk in sorrow down. 


Koderick, this morn, in single fight. 


The burghers spoke of civil jar, 


Was made our prisoner by a knight. 


Of rumour'd feuds and mountain war; 


And Douglas hath himself and cause 


Of Moray, Mar, and Eoderick Dhu, 


Submitted to our Kingdom's laws. 


All up in arms : — the Douglas too. 


The tidings of their leaders lost 


They mourn'd him pent within the hold, 


Will soon dissolve the mountain host, 


" Where stout Earl William was of old"—* 


Nor would we that the vulgar feel. 


And there his word the speaker stay'd. 


For their Chiefs crimes, avenging steel. 


And finger on his lip he laid. 


Bear Mar our message, Braco ; fly ! " 


Or pointed to his dagger blade. 


He turn'd his steed, — " My liege, I hie. 


But jaded horsemen from the west, 


Yet ere I cross this lily lawn. 


At evening to the Castle press'd ; 


I fear the broadswords will be drawn." 


And busy talkers said they bore 


The turf the flying courser spurn'd, 


Tidings of fight on Katrine's shore. 


And to lus towers the King retmn'd. 


At noon the deadly fray begun, 




And lasted till the set of sun. 


XXXTII. 

Dl with King James's mood that day, 
Suited gay feast and minstrel lay; 


Thus giddy Eumour shook the town, 
Till closed the Night her pennons brown. 


Soon were dismiss'd the courtly throng, 
And soon cut short the festal song. 


* stabbed by James n. in Stirling Castle. 




CANTO SIXTH. 



THE GUARD-ROOM. 



The sun, awakening, through the smoky air 
Of the dark city casts a sullen glance, 

Rousing each caitiff to his task of care, 
Of sinful man the sad inheritance ; 

Summoning revellers from the lagging dance. 
Scaring the prowling robber to his den ; 

GUding on battled tower the warder's lance, 
And warning student pale to leave his pen 
And yield his drowsy eyes to the kind nurse of 



What various scenes, and ! what scenes of woe. 
Are witness'd by that red and struggling beam ! 

The fever'd patient, from his pallet low. 

Through crowded hospital beholds it stream ; 

The ruin'd maiden trembles at its gleam. 

The debtor wakes to thought of gyve and jail, 

The love-lorn wretch starts from tormenting dream; 
The wakeful mother, by the glimmering pale. 
Trims her sick infant's- couch, and soothes his 
feeble waU. 



At dawn the towers of Stirling rang 
With soldier-step and weapon-clang. 
While drums, with rolling note, foretell 
Relief to weary sentinel. 
Through narrow loop and casement barr'd. 
The sunbeams sought the Court of Guard, 
And, struggling with the smoky air, 
Deaden'd the torches' yellow glare. 
Li comfortless alliance shone 
The lights through arch of blacken'd stone. 
And sliow'd wild shapes in garb of war, 
Faces deform'd with beard and scar, 



All haggard from the midnight watch. 
And fever'd with the stern debauch ; 
For the oak table's massive board. 
Flooded with wine, with fragments stored. 
And beakers drain'd, and cups o'erthrown, 
Show'd in what sport the night had flovm. 
Some, weary, snored on floor and bench ; 
Some labour'd still their thirst to quench : 
Some, chiU'd with watching, spread their 

hands 
O'er the huge chimney's dying brands. 
While round them, or beside them flung, 
At every step their harness rung. 

III. 

These drew not for their fields the sword, 

Like tenants of a feudal lord, 

Nor own'd the patriarchal claim 

Of chieftain in their leader's name; 

Adventurers they from far, who roved. 

To live by battle which they loved. 

There the Italian's clouded face. 

The swarthy Spaniard's there you trace ; 

The mountain-loving Switzer there 

More freely breathed in mountain air; 

The Fleming there despised the soil, 

That paid so ill the labourer's toil; 

Their rolls show'd French and German name. 

And merry England's exiles came. 

To share, with ill-conceal'd disdain. 

Of Scotland's pay the scanty gain. 

All bravo in arms, well train'd to wield 

The heavy halberd, brand, and shield; 

In camps licentious, wild, and bold ; 

In pillage fierce and uncontroll'd ; 



72 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



And now by holytide and feast, 
From rules of discipline released. 



IV. 

They held dehate of bloody fray, 

Fought 'twixt Loch-Katrine and Achray. 

Fierce was their speech, and, 'mid their words. 

Their hands oft grappled to their swords ; 

Nor sunk their tone to spare the ear 

Of wounded comrades groaning near, 

Wliose mangled limbs, and bodies gored, 

Bore token of the mountain sword. 

Though, neighbouring to the Court of Guard, 

Their prayers and feverish wails were heard : 

Sad burden to the ruffian joke. 

And savage oath by fury spoke ! — 

At length up started John of Brent ; 

A yeoman from the banks of Trent; 

A stranger to respect or fear, 

In peace a chaser of the deer, 

In host a hardy mutineer, 

But still the boldest of the crew, 

When deed of danger was to do. 

He grieved, that day, their games cut short, 

And marr'd the dicer's brawling sport. 

And shouted loud, " Renew the bowl ! 

And, while a merry catch I troU, 

Let each the buxom chorus bear. 

Like brethren of the brand and spear." 



V. 



SOLDIERS SONG. 



Our vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule 
Laid a swinging long curse on the bonny brown 

bowl. 
That there's wrath and despair in the jolly 

black-jack, 
And the seven deadly sins in a flagon of sack ; 
Yet whoop, Barnaby ! off with thy liquor. 
Drink upsees * out, and a fig for the vicar ! 

Our vicar he calls it damnation to sip 
The ripe ruddy dew of a woman's dear lip ; 
Says, that Beelzebub lurks in her kerchief so sly. 
And Apollyon shoots darts from her merry black 

eye; 
Yet whoop. Jack ! kiss Gillian the quicker, 
TlU she bloom like a rose, and a fig for the 

vicar ! 

Our vicar thus preaches — and why should he 

not? 
For the dues of liis cure are the placket and pot ; 
And 'tis right of his office poor laymen to lurch, 
Who infringe the domains of our good Mother 

Church ; 
Yet whoop, bidly-boys ! off with your liquor. 
Sweet Marjorie's the word, and a fig for the 

vicar ! 

* A Bacchanalian interjection, borrowed &om the Dutch. 



Allegro sjiiritoso. 



OUR VICAR STILL PREACHES. 

Music by SAVIS SMALL. 




THE GUARD-ROOM. 



73 



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74 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



The warder's challenge, heard without, 

Stay'd in mid-roar the merry shout, 

A soldier to the portal went, — 

" Here is old Bertram, sirs, of Ghent ; 

And, beat for jirbilee the drum ! 

A maid and minstrel with him come." 

Bertram, a Fleming, gray and scarr'd. 

Was entering now the Court of Guard, 

A harper with him, and, in plaid 

All muffled close, a mountain maid, 

Wlio backward shrunk to 'scape the view 

Of the loose scene and boisterous crew. 

"What news?" they roar'd. — "I only know, 

From noon till eve we fought with foe 

As wild and as untameable. 

As the rude mountains where they dwell. 

On both sides store of blood is lost. 

Nor much success can either boast." 

" But whence thy captives, friend ? such spoil 

As theirs must needs reward thy toil. 

Old dost thou wax, and wars grow sharp ; 

Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp ! 

Got thee an ape, and trudge the land. 

The leader of a juggler baud." 

VII. 

" No, comrade ; — no such fortune mine. 

After the fight, these sought our line, 

That aged harper and the girl. 

And, having audience of the Earl, 

Mar bade I should purvey them steed. 

And bring them hitherward with speed. 

Forbear your mirth and rude alarm. 

For none shall do them shame or harm." 

" Hear ye his boast ! " cried John of Brent, 

Ever to strife and jangling bent; 

" Shall he strike doe beside our lodge. 

And yet the jealous niggard grudge 

To pay the forester his fee ! 

I'll have my share howe'er it be. 

Despite of Moray, Mar, or thee." 

Bertram his forward step withstood; 

And, burning in his vengeful mood. 

Old Allan, though unfit for strife. 

Laid hand upon his dagger-knife ; 

But Ellen boldly stepp'd between. 

And dropp'd at once the tartan screen ! — 



So, from his morning cloud, appears 

The sun of May, through summer tears. 

The savage soldiery, amazed, 

As on descended angel gazed ; 

Even hardy Brent, abash'd and tamed. 

Stood half admiring, half ashamed. 

vm. 

Boldly she spoke, — " Soldiers, attend ! 
My father was the soldier's friend ; 
Cheer'd him in camps, in marches led. 
And with him in the battle bled. 
Not from the valiant, or the strong. 
Should exile's daughter suffer wrong." 
Answer'd De Brent, most forward still 
In every feat, or good or ill, — 
" I shame me of the part I play'd : 
And thou an outlaw's child, poor maid ! 
An outlaw I by forest laws, 
And merry Needwood knows the cause. 
Poor Rose, — if Rose be living now," 
He wiped his iron eye and brow, 
" Must bear such age, I think, as thou. 
Hear ye, my mates ; — I go to call 
The Captain of our watch to hall : 
There lies my halberd on the floor ; 
And he that steps my halberd o'er. 
To do the maid injurious part, 
My shaft shall quiver in his heart ! — 
Beware loose speech, or jesting rough : 
Ye all know John de Brent. Enough." 



IX. 

Their Captain came, a gallant young, — 
(Of Tullibardine's house he sprung,) 
Nor wore lie yet the spurs of knight; 
Gay was his mien, his humour light. 
And, though hj courtesy controll'd. 
Forward his speech, his bearing bold, 
The high-born maiden ill could brook 
The scanning of his curious look 
And dauntless eye ; — and yet, in sooth, 
Young Lewis was a generous youth ; 
But Ellen's lovely face and mien. 
Ill-suited to the garb and scene. 
Might lightly bear construction strange. 
And give loose fancy scope to range. 



THE GUARD-ROOM. 



T5 



" Welcome to Stirling towers, fair maid ! 

Come ye to seek a champion's aid, 

On palfrey white, with harper hoar, 

Like errant damosel of yore ? 

Does thy high quest a knight require. 

Or may the venture suit a squire ? " 

Her dark eye fiash'd : — she paused and 

sigh'd,— 
" Oh what have I to do with pride ! — 
— Through scenes of sorrow, shame, and 

strife, 
A suppliant for a father's life, 
I crave an audience of the King. 
Behold, to back my suit, a ring. 
The royal pledge of grateful claims, 
Given by the Monarch to Fitz-James." 



The signet-ring young Lewis took, 

With deep respect and alter'd look ; 

And said, — " This ring our duties own ; 

And pardon, if to worth unknown. 

In semblance mean obscurely ved'd, 

Lady, in aught my folly fail'd. 

Soon as the day flings wide his gates. 

The King shall know what suitor waits. 

Please you, meanwhile, in fitting bower 

Repose you till his waking hour ; 

Female attendance shall obey 

Your hest, for service or array. 

Permit, I marshal you the way." 

But, ere she follow'cl, with the grace 

And open bounty of her race. 

She bade her slender purse be shared 

Among the soldiers of the guard. 

The rest with thanks their guerdon took. 

But Brent, with shy and awkward look. 

On the reluctant maiden's hold 

Forced blimtly back the proffer'd gold: — 

" Forgive a haughty English heart. 

And forget its ruder part ! 

The vacant purse shall be my. share. 

Which in my barret^cap I'll bear. 

Perchance, in jeopardy of war, 

Where gayer crests may keep afar." 

With thanks, — 'twas all she coidd, — the 

maid 
His rugged courtesy repaid. 



When Ellen forth with Lewis went, 
Allan made suit to John of Brent :^ 
" My lady safe, let your grace 
Give me to see my master's face ! 
His minstrel I, — to share his doom. 
Bound from the cradle to the tomb. 
Tenth in descent, since first my sires 
Waked for his noble house their lyres, 
Nor one of all the race was known 
But prized its weal above their own. 
With the Chief's birth begins our care ; 
Our harp must soothe the infant heir, 
Teach the youth tales of fight, and grace 
His earliest feat of field or chase ; 
In peace, in war, our rank we keep. 
We cheer his board, we soothe his sleep. 
Nor leave him till we pour our verse, — 
A doleful tribute ! — o'er his hearse. 
Then let me share his captive lot, 
It is my right — deny it not ! " 
" Little we reck," said Jolm of Brent, 
" We Southern men, of long descent : 
Nor wot we how a name — a word — 
Makes clansmen vassals to a lord : 
Yet kind my noble landlord's part, — 
God bless the house of Beaudesert ! 
And, but I loved to drive the deer, 
More than to guide the labouring steer, 
I had not dwelt an outcast here. 
Come, good old Minstrel, follow me ; 
Thy Lord and Chieftain shalt thou see." 

XII. 

Then, from a rusted iron hook, 
A bunch of ponderous keys he took. 
Lighted a torch, and Allan led 
Through grated arch and passage dread. 
Portals they passed, where, deep within. 
Spoke prisoner's moan, and fetters' din ; 
Through rugged vaults, where, loosely stored, 
Lay wheel, and axe, and headsman's sword. 
And many a hideous engine grim. 
For wrenching joint and crushing limb. 
By artists form'd, who deem'd it shame 
And sin to give their work a name. 
They halted at a low-brow'd porch. 
And Brent to Allan gave the torch. 



76 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



Wliile bolt and chain lie backward roll'd, 
And made the bar unhasp its hold. 
They enter'd : 'twas a prison-room 
Of stern security and gloom, 
Yet not a dungeon ; for the day 
Through lofty gratings found its way, 
And rude and antique garniture 
Deck'd the sad walls and oaken floor ; 
Such as the rugged days of old 
Deem'd fit for captive noble's hold. 
" Here," said De Brent, " thou mayst 

remain 
Till the Leech visit him again. 
Strict is his charge, the warders tell, 
To tend the noble prisoner well." 
Retiring then the bolt he drew, 
And the lock's murmurs growl'd anew. 
Roused at the sound, from lowly bed 
A captive feebly raised his head ; 
The wondering Minstrel look'd, and knew, 
Not his dear lord, but Roderick Dhu ! 
For, come from where Clan-Alpine fought. 
They, erring, deem'd the Chief he sought. 



As the tall ship, whose lofty prore 
Shall never stem the billows more, 
Deserted by her gallant band. 
Amid the breakers lies astrand, — 
So, on his couch, lay Roderick Dhu ! 
And oft his fever'd limbs he threw 
In toss abrupt, as when her sides 
Lie rocking in the advancing tides. 
That shake her frame with ceaseless beat, 
Yet cannot heave her from her seat ; — 
0, how unlike her course at sea. 
Or his free step on hill and lea ! — 
Soon as the Minstrel he could scan, 
— "■\\arat of thy lady?— of my clan?— 
My mother t — Douglas ? — tell me all ! 
Have they been ruin'd in my fall? 
Ah, yes ! or wherefore art thou here ? 
Yet speak, speak boldly, — do not fear." 
(For Allan, who his mood well knew. 
Was choked with grief and terror too.) — 
"Who fought— who fled?— Old man, be 

brief ; — 
Some might — for they had lost their Chief. 



Who basely live? — who bravely died?" — 
"0, calm thee, Chief!" the Minstrel cried, 
"Ellen is safe!" — "For that, thank Heaven!'' 
" And hopes are for the Douglas given ; — 
The Lady Margaret too is well, 
And, for thy clan, — on field or fell. 
Has never harp of minstrel told 
Of combat fought so true and bold. 
Thy stately Pine is yet unbent, 
Though many a goodly bough is rent." 



The Chieftain rear'd his form on high. 

And fever's fire was in his eye ; 

But ghastly, pale, and livid streaks 

Chequer'd his swarthy brow and cheeks. 

— " Hark, Minstrel ! I have heard thee play. 

With measure bold, on festal day, 

Li yon lone isle, . . . again where ne'er 

Shall harper play, or warrior hear ! . . . 

That stirring air that peals on high. 

O'er Dermid's race our victory. 

Strike it ! — and then, (for well thou canst,) 

Free from thy minstrel-spirit glanced. 

Fling me the picture of the fight. 

When met my clan the Saxon might. 

I'll listen, till my fancy hears 

The clang of swords, the crash of spears ! 

These grates, these walls, shall vanish then, 

For the fair field of fighting men. 

And my free spirit burst away. 

As if it soar'd from battle-fray." 

The trembling Bard with awe obey'd. 

Slow on the harp his hand he laid ; 

But soon remembrance of the sight 

He witness'd from the mountain's height, 

With what old Bertram told at night, 

Awaken'd the full power of song. 

And bore him in career along; 

As shallop launched on river's tide. 

That slow and fearful leaves the side. 

But when it feels the middle stream, 

Drives do-svnward swift as lightning's beam. 

XV. 

BATTLE OP BBAl' AN DDINE. 

" The Minstrel came once more to view 
The eastern ridge of Ben-venue, 



THE GUARD-ROOM. 



77 



For, ere he parted, he would say 
Farewell to lovely Loch-Achray — 
Where shall he find, in foreign land, 
So lone a lake, so sweet a strand ! — 
There is no breeze upon the fern. 

No ripple on the lake, 
Upon her eyrie nods the erne. 

The deer has sought the brake ; 
The small birds will not sing aloud, 

The springing trout lies still. 
So darkly glooms yon thunder-cloud, 
That swathes, as with a purple shroud, 

Benledi's distant hill, 
Is it the thunder's solemn sound 
That mutters deep and dread. 
Or echoes from the groaning ground 

The warrior's measured tread 1 
Is it the lightning's quivering glance 

That on the thicket streams, 
Or do they flash on spear and lance 
The sun's retiring beams? 
— I see the dagger-crest of Mar, 
I see the Moray's silver star, 
Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war. 
That up the lake comes winding far ! 
To hero boune for battle-strife, 

Or bard of martial lay, 
'Twere worth ten years of peaceful life, 
One glance at their array ! 



" Their light-arm'd archers far and near 

Survey'd the tangled ground, 
Their centre ranks, with pike and spear, 

A twilight forest frown'd ; 
Their barbed horsemen, in the rear, 

The stem battalia crown'd. 
No cymbal clash 'd, no clarion rang. 

Still were the pipe and drum ; 
Save heavy tread, and armour's clang, 

The sullen march was dumb. 
There breathed no wind their crests to 
shake. 

Or wave their flags abroad; 
Scarce the frail aspen seem'd to quake. 

That shadow'd o'er their road. 
Their vanward scouts no tidings bring. 

Can rouse no lurking foe, 



Nor spy a trace of living thing, 
Save when they stirr'd the roe. 
The host moves like a deei)-sea wave, 
Wliere rise no rocks its pride to brave, 

High-swelling, dark, and slow. 
The lake is pass'd, and now they gain 
A narrow and a broken plain. 
Before the Trosaclis' rugged jaws; 
And here the horse and spearmen pause, 
Wliilc, to explore the dangerous glen. 
Dive through the pass the archer-men. 

XVII. 

" At once there rose so wild a yell 
Within that dark and narrow dell, 
As all the fiends, from heaven that fell, 
Had peal'd the banner-cry of hell ! 
Forth from the pass in tumult driven. 
Like chaff before the wind of heaven. 

The archery appear : 
For life ! for life ! their flight they ply — 
And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry. 
And plaids and bonnets waving high. 
And broadswords flashing to the sky, 

Are maddening in the rear. 
Onward they di-ive, in dreadful race, 
Pursuers and pursued ; 
Before that tide of flight and chase, 
How sliall it keep its rooted place, 

The spearmen's twilight wood ? 
— 'Down, down,' cried Mar, ' your lances down ! 

Bear back both friend and foe ! ' 
Like reeds before the tempest's frown. 
That serried grove of lances brown 

At once lay leveU'd low; 
And closely shouldering side to side, 
The bristling ranks the onset bide. — 
— ' We'll quell the savage mountaineer, 

As their Tinchel * cows the game ! 
They come as fleet as forest deer, 
We'U di-ive them back as tame.' 



' Bearing before them, in their course, 
The relics of the archer force. 



* A circle of sportsmen, who, by surrounding a great space, and 
gradually narrowing, brought immense quantities of deer together, 
which usually made desperate efforts to break through the Tinchel. 



78 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



Like wave with crest of sparkling foam, 
Eight onward did Clan-Alpine come. 
Above tlie tide, each broadsword bright 
"Was brandishing like beam of light, 

Each targe was dark below ; 
And with the ocean's mighty swing, 
When heaving to the tempest's wing, 

They liurl'd them on the foe. 
I heard the lance's shivering crash, 
As when the whirlwind rends the ash ; 
I heard the broadsword's deadly clang, 
As if a hundred anvils rang ! 
But Moray wheel'd his rearward rank 
Of horsemen on Clan- Alpine's flank, — 

— ' My banner-man advance ! 
I see,' he cried, 'their column shake. — 
Now, gallants ! for your ladies' sake, 

Upon them with the lance ! ' — 
The horsemen dash'd among the rout. 

As deer break through the broom ; 
Their steeds are stout, their swords are out. 

They soon make lightsome room. 
Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne — 

Where, where was Eoderick then ! 
One blast upon his bugle-horn 

Were worth a thoiisand men. 
And refluent through the pass of fear 

The battle's tide was pour'd ; 
Vanish'd the Saxon's struggling spear, 

Vanish'd the mountain sword. 
As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and steep. 

Receives her roaring linn. 
As the dark caverns of the deep 

Suck the wild whirlpool in. 
So did the deep and darksome pass 
Devour the battle's mingled mass; 
None linger now upon the plain. 
Save those who ne'er shall fight again. 

XIX. 

" Now westward rolls the battle's din, 
That deep and doubling pass within. 
— Minstrel, away ! the work of fate 
Is bearing on : its issue wait, 
Wliere the rude Trosachs' dread defile 
Opens on Katrine's lake and isle. 
Gray Ben-venue I soon repass'd, 
Loch-Katrine lay beneath me cast. 



The sun is set; — the clouds are met, 

The lowering scowl of heaven 
An inky hue of livid blue 

To the deep lake has given; 
Strange gusts of wind from mountain 

glen 
Swept o'er the lake, then sunk again. 
I heeded not the eddying surge, 
Mine eye but saw the Trosachs' gorge. 
Mine ear but heard the sullen sound, 
Wliich like an earthquake shook the 

ground. 
And spoke the stern and desperate strife 
That parts not but with parting life. 
Seeming, to minstrel-ear, to toU 
The dirge of many a passing soul. 
Nearer it conies — the dim-wood glen 
The martial flood disgorged again. 

But not in mingled tide ; 
The plaided warriors of the North 
High on tlie mountain thunder forth, 

And overhang its side ; 
Wliile by the lake below appears 
The dark'ning cloud of Saxon spears. 
At weary bay each shatter'd band. 
Eyeing their foemen, sternly stand; 
Their banners stream like tatter'd sail 
That flings its fragments to the gale. 
And broken arms and disarray 
Mark'd the fell havoc of the day. 

XX. 

" Viewing the mountain's ridge askance, 
The Saxons stood in sullen trance, 
Till Moray pointed with liis lance, 

And cried — ' Behold yon isle ! — 
See ! none are left to guard its strand, 
But women weak that wring the hand : 
'Tis there of yore the robber band 

Their booty wont to pile ; — 
My purse, with bonnet-pieces store. 
To him wiU swim a bow-shot o'er. 
And loose a shallop from the shore. 
Lightly we'll tame the war- wolf then, 
Lords of his mate, and brood, and den.' — 
Forth from tlie ranks a spearman sprung. 
On earth his casque and corslet rung. 

He i^lunged him in the wave : — 



THE GUARD-ROOM. 



79 



All saw the deed — the purpose knew, 
And to their clamours Ben-venue 

A uiingleJ echo gave ; 
The Saxons shout, their mate to cheer, 
The helpless females scream for fear, 
And yells for rage the mountaineer. 
'Twas then, as by the outcry riven, 
Pour'd down at once the lowering heaven ; 
A whirlwind swept Loch-Katrine's breast. 
Her Inllows reared their snowy crest. 
Well for the swimmer swell'd they high. 
To mar the Highland marksman's eye; 
For round him shower'd, 'mid rain and 

hail, 
The vengeful arrows of the Gael. — 
In vain. — He ncars the isle — and lo ! 
His hand is on a shallop's bow. 
— Just then a flash of lightning came. 
It tinged the waves and strand with flame ; — 
I mark'd Duncraggan's widow'd dame. 
Behind an oak I saw her stand — 
A naked dirk gleam'd in her hand : — 
It darkeu'd, — but amid the moan 
Of waves I heard a dying groan ; — • 
Another flash ! — the spearman floats 
A weltering corse beside the boats. 
And the stern Matron o'er him stood, 
Her hand and dagger streaming blood. 

XXI. 

" ' Revenge ! revenge ! ' the Saxons cried ; 
The Gaels' exulting^ shout replied. 
Despite the elemental rage, 
Again thej' hurried to engage ; 
But, ere they closed in desperate fight, 
Bloody with spurring came a knight, 
Sprung from his horse, and, from a crag, 
Waved twixt the hosts a milkwhite flag. 
Clarion and trumpet by his side 
Rung forth a truce-note high and wide. 
While, in the Monarch's name, afar, 
A herald's voice forbade the war, 
For Bothwell's lord, and Roderick bold, 
Were both, he said, in captive hold." 
— But here the lay made sudden stand. 
The harp escaped the Minstrel's hand ! — 
Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy 
How Roderick brook'd his minstrelsy : 



At first, the Chieftain, to the chime. 

With lifted hand, kept feeble time ; 

That motion ceased, — yet feeling strong 

"Varied his look as changed the song ; 

At length, no more his deafen'd ear 

The minstrel melody can hear; 

His face grows sharp, — his hands are clench'd. 

As if some pang his heart-strings wrench'd ; 

Set are his teeth ; his fading eye 

Is sternly fix'd on vacancy : — 

Thus, motionless, and moanless, drew 

His parting breath, stout Roderick Dhu ! — 

Old Allan-Bane look'd on aghast. 

While grim and stUl his spirit pass'd; 

But when he saw that life was fled. 

He pour'd his wading o'er the dead. 



LAMENT. 

" And art thou cold, and lowly laid, 
Thy foeman's dread, thy people's aid, 
Breadalbane's boast. Clan- Alpine's shade ! 
For thee shall none a requiem say? 
— For thee, — who loved the minstrel's lay, 
For thee, of Bothwell's house the stay. 
The shelter of her exiled line, 
E'en in this prison-house of thine, 
I'U wad for Alpine's honour'd Pine ! 

" What groans shall yonder valleys fUl ! 
What shrieks of grief shall rend yon hUl ! 
What tears of burning rage shall tlirill. 
When mourns thy tribe thy battles done. 
Thy fall before the race was won. 
Thy sword ungirt ere set of sun! 
There breathes not clansman of thy line, 
But would have given his life for thine — 
wo for Alpine's honour'd Pine ! 

" Sad was thy lot on mortal stage ! — 
The captive thrush may brook the cage. 
The prison'd eagle dies for rage. 
Brave spirit, do not scorn my strain ! 
And, when its notes awake again. 
Even she, so long beloved in vain. 
Shall with my harp her voice combine. 
And mix her wo and tears with mine. 
To wail Clan- Alpine's honour'd Pine." 



80 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



Ellen, the while, with bursting heart, 

Eemain'd in lordly bower apart, 

Wliere play'd, with many-colour'd gleams, 

Through storied pane, the rising beams. 

In vain on gilded roof they fall, 

And lighten'd up a tapestried wall, 

And for her use a menial train 

A rich collation spread in vain. 

The banquet proud, the chamber gay, 

Scarce drew one curious glance astray; 

Or, if she look'd, 'twas but to say. 

With better omen dawn'd the day 

In that lone isle, where waved on high 

The dun deer's hide for canopy; 

Where oft her noble father shared 

The simple meal her care prepared, 

Wliile Lufra, crouching by her side. 

Her station claim'd with jealous pride, 

And Douglas, bent on woodland game. 

Spoke of the chase to Malcolm Graeme, 

Wliose answer, oft at random made, 

The wandering of his thoughts betray'd. 

Those who such simple joys have known. 

Are taught to prize them when they're gone. 

But sudden, see, she lifts her head ! 

The window seeks with cautious tread. 

Wliat distant music has the power 

To win her in this woful hour ! 

'Twas from a turret that o'erhung 

Her latticed bower, the strain was sung. 



XXIV. 

LAY OF THE IMPRISONED HUNTSMAN. 

" My hawk is tired of perch and hood. 
My idle greyhound loathes his food. 
My horse is weary of his stall. 
And I am sick of captive thrall. 
I wish I were as I have been, 
Hunting the hart in forest green, 
With bended bow and bloodhound free, 
Eor that's the life is meet for me. 

"I hate to learn the ebb of time, 
From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime. 
Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl, 
Inch after inch, along the wall. 
The lark was wont my matins ring, 
The sable rook my vespers sing ; 
These towers, although a king's they be. 
Have not a hall of joy for me. 

' No more at dawning morn I rise. 
And sun myself in Ellen's eyes. 
Drive the fleet deer the forest through, 
And homeward wend with evening 

dew ; 
A blithesome welcome blithely meet, 
And lay my trophies at her feet. 
While fled the eve on wing of glee, — ■ 
That life is lost to love and me ! " 



MY HAM/'K IS TIRED. 



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THE GUARD-ROOM. 



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THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



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XXV. 

The heart-sick lay was hardly said, 

The list'ner had not tiirn'd her head, 

It trickled still, the starting tear, 

Wlien light a footstep struck her ear, 

And Snowdoun's graceful Knight was near. 

She turn'd the hastier, lest again 

The prisoner should renew his strain. 

" welcome, brave Fitz-James ! " she said ; 

" How may an almost orphan maid 

Pay the deep debt " " say not so ! 

To me no gratitude you owe. 
Not mine, alas ! the boon to give. 
And bid thy noble father live ; 
I can but be thy guide, sweet maid. 
With Scotland's King thy suit to aid. 
No tyrant he, though ire and pride 
May lead his better mood aside. 
Come, Ellen, come ! — 'tis more than time. 
He holds his court at morning prime." 
With beating heart, and bosom rung. 
As to a brother's arm she clung. 
Gently he dried the falling tear, 
And gently wliisper'd hope and cheer ; 
Her faltering steps half led, half stay'd. 
Through gallery fair and liigh arcade. 
Till, at his touch, its wings of pride 
A portal arch unfolded wide. 

XXVI. 

Within 'twas brilliant all and light, 
A thronging scene of figures bright ; 
It glow'd on Ellen's dazzled sight, 



As when the setting sun has given 
Ten thousand hues to summer even, 
And, from their tissue, fancy frames 
Aerial knights and fairy dames. 
Still by Fitz-James her footing stay'd ; 
A few faint steps she forward made. 
Then slow her drooping head she raised, 
And fearful round the presence gazed ; 
For him she sought, who own'd this 

state, 
The dreaded prince whose will was fate ! — 
She gazed on many a princely port. 
Might well have ruled a royal court ; 
On many a splendid garb she gazed, — 
Then turn'd bewilder'd and amazed. 
For all stood bare ; and, in the room, 
Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume. 
To him each lady's look was lent ; 
On him each courtier's eye was bent ; 
Midst furs and silks and jewels sheen. 
He stood in simple Lincoln greeU) 
The centre of the glittering ring, — 
And Snowdoun's Knight is Scotland's King ! 

XXVII. 

As wreath of snow, on mountain breast. 

Slides from the rock that gave it rest. 

Poor EUen glided from her stay, 

And at the Monarch's feet she lay ; 

No word her choking voice commands, — 

She show'd the ring — she clasp'd her hands. 

! not a moment could he brook. 

The generous prince, that supphant look ! 



THE GUARD-ROOM. 



83 



Gently lie raised her, and the wliile, 

Chock'd with a glauco the circle's smile ; 

Graceful, hut grave, her hrow he kiss'd. 

And hade her terrors be dismiss'd : — 

" Yes, Fair ; the wandering poor Fitz-James 

The fealty of Scotland claims. 

To lum thy woes, thy wishes, bring; 

He will redeem his signet ring. 

Ask nought for Douglas; — yestereven. 

His prince and he have much forgiven : 

Wrong hath he had from slanderous tongue, 

I, from his rebel kinsmen, wrong. 

We woidd not to the vulgar crowd 

Yield what they craved with clamour loud; 

Calmly we heard and judged his cause. 

Our council aided, and our laws. 

I staunch'd thy father's death-feud stern, 

With stout De Vaux and gray Glencairne ; 

And Bothwell's Lord henceforth we own 

The friend and bulwark of our throne. 

But, lovely infidel, how now? 

What clouds thy misbelieving brow? 

Lord James of Douglas, lend thine aid; 

Thou must confirm this doubting maid." 

XXVIII. 

Then forth the noble Douglas sprung, 

And on his neck his daughter hung. 

The Monarch drank, that happy hour. 

The sweetest, holiest draught of Power, — 

When it can say, with godlike voice, 

Arise, sad Virtue, and rejoice ! 

Yet woidd not James the general eye 

On nature's raptures long should pry; 

He stepp'd between — " Xay, Douglas, nay. 

Steal not my proselyte away ! 

The riddle 'tis my right to read, 

That brought this happy chance to speed. 

Yes, Ellen, when disguised I stray 

In life's more low but happier way, 

'Tis under name which veils my power, 

Nor falsely veds — for Stirling's tower. 

Of yore the name of Snowdoun claims. 

And Normans call me James Fitz-James. 

Thus watch I o'er insulted laws. 

Thus learn to right the injured cause." 

Then, in a tone apart and low, 

— "Ah, little trait'ress! none must know 



Wliat idle cbeam, what lighter thought, 

Wliat vanity full dearly bought, 

Join'd to thine eye's dark witchcraft, drew 

My spellbound steps to Ben-venue, 

In dangerous hour, and all but gave 

Thy Monarch's life to mountain glaive ! " 

Aloud ho spoke — "Thou still dost hold 

That little talisman of gold. 

Pledge of my faith, Fitz-James's ring — 

What seeks fair Ellen of the King ! " 

XXIX. 

Full well the conscious maiden guess'd, 
He probed the weakness of her breast; 
But, with that consciousness, there camo 
A lightening of her fears for Graeme, 
And more she deem'd the Monarch's ire 
Kindled 'gainst him, who, for her sire, 
Kebellious broadsword boldly drew ; 
And to her generous feeling true. 
She craved the grace of Roderick Dhu. 
" Forbear thy suit ;— the King of kings 
Alone can stay life's parting wings. 
I know his heart, I know his hand. 
Have shared his cheer, and proved his 

brand ; — 
My fairest earldom would I give 
To bid Clan- Alpine's Chieftain live ! — 
Hast thou no other boon to crave? 
No other captive friend to save?" 
Blushing, she turn'd her from the King, 
And to the Douglas gave the ring. 
As if she wish'd her sire to speak 
The suit that stain'd her glowing cheek.— 
" Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force. 
And stubborn justice holds her course. 
Malcolm, come forth ! "—And, at the word, 
Down kneel'd the Graeme to Scotland's Lord. 
"For thee, rash youth, no suppliant sues. 
From thee may Vengeance claim her dues. 
Who, nurtured underneath our smile. 
Hast paid our care by treacherous wile, 
And sought, amid thy faithful clan, 
A refuge for an outlaw'd man. 
Dishonouring thus thy loyal name. 
Fetters and warder for the Graeme ! " — 
His chain of gold the King unstnmg, 
The links o'er Malcolm's neck he flung, 



84 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



Then gently drew the glittering band, 
And laid the clasp on EUen's hand. 



Harp of the North, farewell ! The hills grow 
dark, 
On purple peaks a deeper shade descending; 
In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her 
spark, 
The deer, half-seen, are to the covert wend- 
ing. 
Resume thy wizard elm ! the fountain lending. 
And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy, 
Thy numbers sweet with Nature's vespers blend- 
ing. 
With distant echo from the fold and lea. 
And herdboy's evening pipe, and hum of hous- 
ing bee. 

Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel Harp ! 
Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway. 



And little reck I of the censure sharp 

May idly cavil at an idle lay. 
Much have I owed thy strains on life's long 
way, 
Tlirough secret woes the world has never 
known, 
When on the weary night dawn'd wearier day. 

And bitterer was the grief devour'd alone. 
That I o'erlive such woes, Enchantress ! is 
thine own. 

Hark ! as my lingering footsteps slow retire, 

Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy string ! 
'Tis now a Seraph bold, with touch of fire, 

'Tis now the brush of Fairy's frolic wing. 
Receding now, the dying numbers ring 

Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell. 
And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring 

A wandering witch-note of the distant spell — 
And now, 'tis silent aU ! — Enchantress, fare 
thee well ! 




